


An Ichabbie Western

by TheSmutFaries



Series: Bodice Rippers [1]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bodice-Ripper, F/M, Multi, Tropes, also at some point abbie getting revenge goes into minor details, death mentions, mentions of past physical and sexual assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 76,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmutFaries/pseuds/TheSmutFaries
Summary: Ichabod Crane is a wealthy land owner in the wild west town of Salt River Falls, New Mexico looking for a wife.  Abbie is a mail order bride trying to escape her mysterious past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We used the little town of Truth & Consequences, NM as inspiration for Salt River Falls. Look it up online if you get the chance. We would really like to visit there some day.

Abbie watched the landscape almost fly by and took a deep breath. The sun had begun to rise and the few other early risers had migrated to the eastern side of the car to watch it in all its glory. _Beautiful sunsets_ , she remembered from one of the letters, and felt a small shiver. 

Three days into her journey and she was officially further than she’d ever been from all she’d known. Hard to imagine so little time had passed since Abbie had hugged Jenny to her tightly, trying to commit everything to memory before everything in her life changed. 

“ _Are you sure?” Jenny asked, for the hundredth time. There was steel in her eyes as she clasped Abbie’s hands in a vice-like grip._

_“What choice do we have?” she asked, enjoying the flash of annoyance on Jenny’s face when she answered her question with another._

_“There’s always a choice,” Jenny hissed, glaring at a man who stared her up and down first with confusion, then a bit of lustful intrigue. Both Mills sisters stared him down until he continued on his way, face red. “I’m going to be worried about you,” Jenny started again as the train blew its whistle loud._

_Abbie looked around as people began to board. “Don’t worry about me; I'll be fine. I worry about you,” she said. “Please don’t take any unnecessary chances.”_

_Jenny tipped her hat and winked. “Do I ever?”_

_“Promise me you’ll stop gambling?”_

_“It’s not gambling if its a sure thing,” Jenny jokes. “Fine,” she says when Abbie’s face falls. “Hand to god I’ll stay away from the cards. Now, let’s stop talking about this - I don’t want this to be the topic of our last conversation.”_

_Abbie shakes her head. “This won’t be our last conversation,” she vows as she pulls her money purse from where its tied around her wrist. Jenny begins to protest but Abbie silences her with just a look. “This is just to get you by for a while,” she said as she pressed a tightly bound wad of bills into Jenny’s palm._

_“Abbie,” Jenny hissed. “You can’t afford this!”_

_“You can’t afford not to take this. I’ll make do - there’s always work for a skilled seamstress, black woman or not. I’ll be okay.”_

_Shamefaced, Jenny tucked the money in the pocket of her vest, suddenly unable to look at her sister. “What am I going to do without you?”_

_“Probably put your feet up on the good sofa,” Abbie joked as she blinked tears away. “What am I going to do without you?”_

Abbie looked down at the letter in her hand, the only one she permitted herself to keep apart from her luggage. It wasn’t much, but the words on the page did quite a bit toward keeping her hopeful and giving her courage. Something she needed more and more of as the landscape changed from familiar brick and mortar to green and gold. 

She was heading west to be married. Married to a man she knew only through a few letters. A few beautiful letters full of prose and elegance. She had a good feeling about the choice, even if it wasn't _really_ a choice. But she couldn't just let her sister be in debt to Lucian Moloch. Not when the solution was so easily rectified.

In her mind, her future husband was a tall black cowboy with broad shoulders and a disarming smile. She imagined him swaggering into the foreman’s house--in his letters he spoke extensively of the views from the foreman’s house so she reckoned that was his role on the ranch--dust from his day clinging to his sun darkened skin. Educated, obviously, by the way his words made New Mexico sound like poetry in his tidy and masculine scrawl. 

Abbie would be like the heroines in her novels and help her husband get cleaned up for dinner--carefully disarming him of his six shooters and leather holsters, providing him a basin to wash his hands and face before they shared the cozy meal she had made for him.

Her heart fluttered as she imagined him hoisting her onto the table and having his way with her after a long hard day on the farm. The space between her thighs clenched gently and she fanned herself to cool her blood. 

It didn't do a lady well to have such thoughts.

Besides, the novels she read were mere fancy. She doubted real life could ever be like the novels. But a woman could dream.

Abbie sighed and blinked at the scenery. Fanciful thinking. She was hoping scenarios like her novels could, indeed, come to fruition. It would make everything that had happened seem like a really terrible dream.

She quickly tramped such extraneous thoughts and accepted the reality that lay ahead: while Abbie Mills of Sleepy Hollow, New York boarded the train a whole new woman would disembark; a hopeful, soon-to-be Grace Van Brunt of Salt River Falls, New Mexico.

That was going to be her reality. A reinvention to put everything that was taking place in New York behind her. And hopefully she could start to truly heal once away from the evil that was Lucian Moloch.

 

~*~

What was she going to do now? Abbie wondered. The whole reason she was in this God-forsaken place, a thousand miles from home, was to get married and pay off Jenny's debts to Lucian.

But the man had taken one look at her and said he had decided not to marry her after all. Which that was all fine and dandy because her initial impression was that the guy was kinda creepy. Sure he was handsome and _looked_ refined, but Abbie had learned to trust her initial perceptions of people. She had learned the hard way about giving them a chance to change her mind.

However, the fact remained that he had rejected her. Because he hadn’t been expecting _someone like her_ as his bride. He hadn't answered when she asked for clarification, but she knew exactly what he had meant.

Even if he had been willing to marry her, if there hadn’t been any issues, she could have hoped he might get attacked and mauled by coyotes or bit by a snake. Their marriage wouldn’t have had to endure too long. Just long enough to make sure Lucian released Jenny from her debts. It would maybe take a month for word they had gotten married to reach Lucian, sealing her end of the deal. 

If she went home, she'd have to work to pay off Jenny's debts and might have to get sent out as a bride again. If she stayed… there was no telling what might happen to Jenny.

Also, if she stayed her options were limited without a husband: 

_She could be a maid_ for one of the few landowners in the town. There was only two and one of them was the man that rejected her. And Abbie couldn’t help but be mad that she would have been the wife of _a land owner_ if she hadn’t been rejected. What sort of luck was that? She had been sent to a wealthy man!

It was like it was straight out of one of her novels!

_She could be a saloon girl_. Serve drinks. Put up with filthy men groping her and asking how much for a night with her. Then retreat to her rented room to cry at night. She shuddered at the thought of unwelcome hands grabbing at her, her fingers lightly tracing dark marks on her neck that had long ago faded.

None of those seemed like something Abbie wanted to do. But nor did she want to face Lucian Moloch back home. Not after… 

With a sigh, Abbie stood, walked over to her trunk, and knelt down to open it. She pulled out the white muslin gown she had been working on for the past six months and sighed. “Looks like I might have to sell you,” she said regretfully. 

Surely there was some affluent bride back home that could afford a white wedding dress. The fact Abbie had made three white dresses is what gave her enough left over material to make her own. It was beautiful enough that she could probably pay off Jenny’s debts by selling it.

She had planned to show everyone. Not only was she going to marry a good man but she was going to be a black woman wearing white for her wedding. A pristine white.

She trailed her fingers over the delicate blue flowers she had embroidered around the modest neckline. Oh how Jenny had teased her for being “so girly” for having _periwinkle_ flowers. Flowers alone were fine but having them blue somehow made it unforgivably feminine to her sister.

But Abbie had smartly pointed out that just because Jenny wore pink waistcoats and shirts didn't make her any manlier. It was just a color. _And they're are cornflowers, thank you very much Jenny_.

Abbie was startled from her thoughts by a light knock on her door. It couldn't possibly be dinner time… she frowned and walked to the door and peered out.

A petite, dark haired woman was grinning brightly at her. 

Abbie smiled lightly. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

“No,” she beamed and her eyes fell to the gown. “Oh! What lovely embroidery…” she leaned down to take a closer look. “How did you get your stitches to be so tiny?”

Abbie wriggled her fingers. “Tiny hands, tiny stitches mama always said.”

The young woman giggled cutely then stood straight. “Oh! You have a visitor down stairs. Joe sent me to fetch ya for ‘em.”

Abbie laid the dress on her bed. _It better not be another cowboy inquiring about if I charge for a night…_

It wouldn’t do to dwell on negativity, no matter how much seemed to be so.

Maybe the man needed a suit or a personal tailor. It could be good money if he offered her a job. She might be able to pay off Jenny's debt and bring Jenny west within the year. “Lead the way,” Abbie said.

~*~

It had been all Bram had been able to talk about for months. _He was getting a mail order bride_. He had received word they would be sending a bride to him. _Imagine it Ichabod, me a married man_. To be fair, Ichabod couldn't picture his younger brother getting married. Mostly because two days later Bram had been up in the local brothel. So, undoubtedly the unfortunate lady would not be happy.

_My bride is on the way, Ichabod. All the way from the state of New York_. It was how many women managed to travel west… by becoming a mail order bride.

The two had been exchanging correspondence for months. Bram had said they seemed compatible enough in that he was a man and she was a woman. Of course, Bram had played himself up to the young woman. _She’s a lady, Ichabod, from New York. Pen something for me so that I can send it to her. Poetry or something_. So Ichabod had wrote a two page letter describing the sunset over Turtleback mountain and how “he” couldn’t wait to share it with her.

_Her train will arrive today, Ichabod_. Which, that had been just this morning. Bram had not even made mention of his bride until Ichabod made inquiry.

Bram shrugged indifferently. “I'm putting in a request that they send me a different bride.”

Ichabod scowled. “Has Miss Mills fallen ill?” he asked. When Bram shook his head, he implored further. “Was she not a seamstress as promised?” Oh she was, a good one too--she was in high demand in several New York circles, according to one of his friends that frequented New York City and her letters--so she was definitely ideal bride material and precisely what Bram had requested. “What's the problem, then, brother?”

“I was… expecting something different. Prettier, perhaps,” Bram humphed, disappointment crossing his features “She's… pretty for her type, I suppose but… not to my liking.”

Ichabod cocked a brow. “I am afraid I do not understand? You sent the poor woman away because she wasn't _pretty enough_?”

“She'll be leaving when the next eastbound train comes,” Bram said, evading the actual question. “Perhaps the service can find her a more suitable husband once she returns to New York… a farmer or some other working class fellow. She’s certainly not for a landowner such as myself. Imagine what people would say...”

Ichabod forced himself to keep a hold of his temper. “You’ve abandoned a woman who doesn’t know the town nor a soul in it,” he said incredulously. “Where are your manners, you pretentious fool?”

“She's at the _hotel_ ,” Bram said flippantly. “I referred her to The Golden Nugget to await the train to return her to New York. She'll be fine. The place it teeming with various types of women. Hell, she might even be able to fetch a few dollars during her stay.” He got a curious expression. “Perhaps it’s not too late to make her an offer for a tumble… she’s sightly enough for that at least.”

Ichabod stared at his brother for a moment before moving to grab his hat and jacket. With his hands occupied he could at least refrain from punching Bram across his face. “You _referred her_ to The Nugget? You didn't even give her proper escort?”

“She’s perfectly fine,” Bram protested as he rose to follow. “There is no damsel to be rescued,” he called after him. The screen door slammed shut with as much indictment as the flat silence Ichabod left in his wake. 

Ichabod had never been so angry and disappointed in Bram in quite some time. All the man talked about was his coming bride and how life on the ranch would change _for the both of us, you’ll see, Ichabod_. Only to turn her away for what sounded like a vaguely cosmetic reason, leaving her in town and at the hotel? The town brothel at that!

Ichabod scoffed. _Hotel_. The town’s hotel was not much more than a series of rooms above the saloon that one could rent by the hour or by the night, usually accompanied by a woman of negotiable affection; definitely no place for a lady awaiting a train. Not when it wasn't her fault his brother was a pretentious snit.

It was half an hour before he reached town, the sun was beginning to set and the main thoroughfare was busy with people preparing to settle in for the night. Ichabod nodded to various folks as he maneuvered his horse toward the liveliest building in town, The Golden Nugget Saloon. Bawdy music blared almost resentfully from a piano inside, just slightly lower than the raucous laughter of loose men. 

Ichabod’s frown became more pronounced as he hitched Katrina to the post and went inside. Just as he suspected, half the air was stale smoke and the other half smelt of various cheap spirits. He kept his displeasure from his face as he walked around the tables, careful not to jostle the trigger-happy men who glared at each other over their tobacco stained cards. 

He made his way to the bar with all the grace of a silent wraith searching for lost souls. “Joe,” he called, signalling the man over.

Joe looked up from his conversation and smiled. “Ichabod Crane, at the bar? I thought you told me good whiskey was to be sipped on your own porch after a long day’s work?” he asked as he grabbed a bottle of Jack from one shelf and a clean glass from another. 

“I still stick to my word,” Ichabod reassured him as he watched Joe top the shot glass up and slide it over to him. 

“Then I won’t force you to join me,” Joe said as he poured himself one with a grin. 

Ichabod paused momentarily before he reached for the shot and knocked it back, enjoying the burn as it slid down his tongue. “I wouldn’t want to be rude,” he said.

“Ichabod Crane, rude? I'd never hear of it.” Joe shook his head. “What you here for, Ichabod? Surely not to shoot the shit - it’s not Sunday.”

Ichabod chuckled. “Nothing wrong with going a bit out of routine,” he said with a mock scowl. “But I do have business here,” he admitted, suddenly glad for that bit of liquid courage. “I’m here for a young woman-”

Joe whooped, drawing the eye of a few of drinkers. “It’s about time, Ichabod. People were finna talk and I could use the ext-”

Ichabod narrowed his eyes and raised his hand. “That is not what I’m looking for,” he said flatly. Joe’s face fell and he swore under his breath. “I’m looking for a young woman who just got in this morning on the train. I was told she should be renting a room here.”

Joe looked at him strangely. “I’ve just got one female renter,” he said.

“Then she’s the one,” Ichabod said.

“You sure?”

“Well, Joe, no, I’m not sure,” he said exasperatedly. “I don’t know how many young women came in on the train today. Bram came to fetch her - he was the one who referred her here.”

“This one came alone, looked to the point of tears. One of my girls said they saw her speaking to your brother at the station before coming here,” Joe said. “Was she the one Bram sent for to marry?” he whispered. “The mail order bride?”

Ichabod nodded. “Why are you whispering?”

Joe looked at him again strangely before motioning over one of the corseted girls decked out in flouncing petticoats. “Check on the table in back and make sure they have full drinks, then go fetch the woman in room four; tell her she’s got a visitor.”

The dark haired young lady took a lingering glance at Ichabod before turning on her heel and ducking between the tables. 

Ichabod sat on a stool and forced his fingers not to fidget by clasping the shot glass hard enough to turn his knuckles pale. As the man on the piano changed the song he mulled over the possibility of another shot to calm his nerves. 

After a few minutes, he became suddenly aware that the murmur of conversation had died down. He turned around to see what caught everyone’s attention and Ichabod now understood what his brother had meant by _her type_. And it made him loathe his brother even more because…

She was _beautiful_. No qualifications needed. She was simply… stunning. Their eyes met across the room and he watched her brows arch with interest. Thankfully he managed to keep his mouth shut when he quickly rose from his stool as the dainty saloon girl escorted her over to him.

Miss Mills’ eyes swept over him and he caught a small intake of her breath before she steeled her spine and met his eyes again, this time they were hard and defiant.

“May I help you?” the petite woman greeted curtly. “Forgive my boldness. But if you're here inquiring about a tumble, I will tell you like I did the others. You're barking up the wrong tree.”

Ichabod blinked and shook his head to clear it. At least she was straight forward. He liked that. “Forgive me,” he murmured as he took her hand and bowed over it. “Ichabod Crane, Miss Mills. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances at long last.”

Miss Mills blinked up at him in wary confusion as he released her hand. “I'm sorry?”

Ichabod sucked in a breath. While it felt as if he had known her for ages, having read the correspondences she sent Bram so he could adequately respond in his brother's stead, he realized he had never mentioned himself in the letters directly. “You know my brother, Abraham Van Brunt…”

Miss Mills pinned him with a stern gaze, tilting her chin defiantly. “I think it would have been less insulting to ask for a tumble. Have a good day, sir…”

“Please… Miss Mills,” Ichabod said softly, reaching out to grab her hand. When she turned sharply, he caught a hint of fear in her eyes before they became hard again. He released her hand immediately. “I am not here to make apologies for my brother’s incorrigible behaviour…” She paused then half turned away to look for the stairs. “While I do admit his behaviour is uncalled for, and I spoke my piece to him about it. Only he alone can atone for his transgression and it have value to you. I am here of my own accord with my own... business.”

“We’re in agreement that your brother wronged me. So, why are you here, Mister Crane?” Miss Mills asked. “If it's not to apologize for your brother or to ask for a tumble, what business would you have with a woman in a place like this?”

“May I?” Ichabod asked, gesturing toward a lone empty table on the other side of the room. He did not move until Miss Mills gave him a slight nod. He led her to the table and pulled her chair out for her, sliding it in once she’d been seated. If he hadn’t seen her actually sit on the chair he’d be hard pressed to notice a difference in weight at all.

_Such a tiny thing_ , he thought as he took his seat across from her. 

“You came to the west as a mail order bride,” Ichabod said. “Was this of your own choice?”

“More or less.” Miss Mills shrugged. “I needed a new beginning,” she said softly, her fingers delicately stroking her neck above the dainty ruffled lace on her collar. “And it had the added stability of having a husband that would prevent me from having to…” she cast a glance around “... work in a place like this.”

“Do you wish to return home,” he asked carefully.

Miss Mills tilted her head. “Well, I can just say the options for a single woman here are limited. At least back home I know people look down their noses for no proper reason.”

Ichabod looked down at his hands. “So… you came to the west to take a husband, and this option still holds appeal?”

“Yeah,” she replied warily. He could tell she was wondering where, exactly, this conversation was heading. 

To be fair, he was wondering himself. Why couldn't he just say what he wanted? He felt his cheeks warm. “My brother is not the only man of Salt River Falls in want of a bride… I, myself, desire marrying. It seems our desires intersect.”

Miss Mills blinked at him, then burst into laughter. “You’re joking right? You’d marry the woman your brother turned away?”

Ichabod felt a wave of irritation rise into his throat. He quickly swallowed it down and took a calming breath. “My brother and I often have opposing views on things. He is a pretentious, self absorbed, superficial idiot; amongst other things. Personally, I happen to find you quite lovely.”

Miss Mills rolled her eyes. “For a black woman?” she scoffed.

Ichabod shook his head. “Period.” He took her hand in both of his. Her pupils dilated as he gazed into her eyes. “Your eyes are dark, fathomless pools that I would gladly drown myself in, Miss Mills, if only given the opportunity. 

“You hold yourself as a woman who demands respect. Hard, but not so hard that you are unwilling to share your softness with someone who _earns_ the privilege. I can honestly tell you, the West is not kind to women who are openly soft and delicate.”

“Oh…” she squeaked. “I have a sister that I would like to get her to come out this way.”

Ichabod bowed his head politely. “If that is what you desire. I have plenty of room at my ranch for any family you wish to bring to the west. We could build them their own homesteads if they desired.”

“I only have my sister,” Miss Mills said quietly. “She's not exactly the homesteading type.”

“My door is open to her then, Miss Mills,” Ichabod whispered. “If you would like, I can arrange to have your things brought to my home and we can register as wed in the morning.”

Miss Mills arched her brows. “Who said I _wanted_ to actually marry you? You have yet to even ask, Mister Crane,” she said incredulously. “Is the west so uncivilised that men don't even ask a woman for her hand anymore? They just tell her they will wed even if she has no desire to marry him? Like a bunch of unruly cavemen...”

It was Ichabod’s turn to blink in surprise. He then smiled shyly, his cheeks flushing softly. “My apologies… I assure you, the west is not full of lawless heathens,” he said, taking her hand. One corner of Miss Mills’ mouth turned up and she fluttered her lashes demurely. “Miss Grace Abigail Mills, would you permit me the honour and privilege of being your husband?”

He watched as her chest heaved and she glanced away shyly for a brief moment. “I would love to. Thank you for asking instead of assuming, Mister Crane.”

Ichabod nodded and rose from his seat. “If you’ll direct me to your room I’ll fetch your things and we can be on our way.”

Abbie glanced around. “Is it not too late to have our wedding officiated?” she asked.

Ichabod frowned. “Yeah, won’t happen tonight. The sheriff only performs weddings before noon.”

“So if I accompany you tonight it will be as an _unwed_ woman,” she said slowly.

He nodded. “It would be, yes.”

“Then I will stay here for the evening. Only after we can see the sheriff and he is able to wed us, will I go to your home. With you, as your wife,” Abbie finished. She looked away with a pained look and tucked a vagrant curl behind her ear.

“You are a long way from the propriety of New York. This is no place for a lady such as yourself, Miss Mills…” He glanced around the saloon at the questionable characters, noting the ones that would probably gladly break in a renter’s door if they thought she had coin… amongst other things. “The good people of Salt River Falls would not dare chin wag over it, especially if we are to wed come morning. And they would not dare infringe on your virtue because they know I would behave honourably.”

Abbie tilted her chin up and he saw challenge flash in her eyes. “I’m tougher than I look, Mister Crane. I’ve survived worse than staying the night at a whorehouse. Any man that thinks he can cause me injury will have my pistol to answer to. I will be fine for tonight.”

Ichabod couldn’t help but smile. He appreciated someone who didn’t cut corners; it boded well for her character. And she already talked like a woman of the west. “Then until tomorrow, Miss Mills,” he said, inclining his head respectfully. “Rest well, madam.”

Abbie rose and nodded in return. “I reckon that might be the last time I’m called such,” she murmured. “Until tomorrow, Mister Crane.”

Ichabod watched her deftly maneuver through the jostling crowd, easily lost due to her stature and felt his heart give a curious flutter. This wasn’t how he imagined he’d begin life as a married man, but he does have a curious sense of relief. 

The hardest part was over, after all. Right?

Good Lord he needed another drink.

~*~

Abbie lay in bed, breathing slowly. How could she have gone from engaged, to spinster, and engaged again all in one day? It would have been understandable if it had been to the same man. But she had arrived today, expecting to marry one man. He had turned her away. And then another gentleman had stepped in to ask for her hand.

His brother at that. Or, perhaps, they were simply friends? They both had different surnames.

Were quality women really that scarce in these parts? That a man of affluence and wealth saw no issues in marrying a black woman? Although, apparently his brother had issues with the idea.

She hadn’t been sure what to expect when the girl had said she had a visitor. She had been pleasantly surprised to see the very immaculately dressed Ichabod Crane waiting. He had stood out in the crowded saloon like a diamond amongst rough pebbles. Tall. Handsome. Polished. Dirt seemed to hesitant to settling upon his polished boots from fear of being rebuked.

Perfectly pressed trousers. Silk waistcoat-- _silk_. She hadn’t seen a glimpse of silk since leaving New York! Everything from his long, neatly groomed hair, the stetson in his hands, to his boots had screamed that he was the sort of man that had expensive tastes. She could have easily gotten lost in his kind eyes had she let herself do so. 

She’d had to stiffen her spine when she realized he was the one the saloon girl was leading her to.

He was a multitude more handsome than the man that had brought her to Salt River Falls and a far cry from what she thought she was going to marry. Softer in many ways too. Abraham had been all bulk and brutish. Ichabod was… lithe and elegant. Abraham had been short and clipped in tone. Abbie wanted to drown herself in Ichabod’s voice or wrap it around her on a cold night for warmth.

But she had been fooled by nice exteriors before. She had vowed never again. She was going to tread carefully this time, make sure what sort of man she was giving her heart to regardless of the fact she was going to be married to him or not. Abbie rolled over and sighed.

At best she had hoped for work. But he had offered to marry her instead! Why the hell would he want to marry her when his brother turned her away? Did he feel sorry for her? No, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes when he had first seen her. Surprise. Disbelief. And then… Attraction.

She turned into her side and worried her thumbnail with her teeth as she tried to hide a grin. She felt like one of the heroines in her novels! Already she was imagining herself and Ichabod in the middle of a heated argument over something trivial, him sweeping her up into his arms, and carrying her off to bed because their frustrations had turned to passion.

Somewhere between her calling him a bastard and him tearing her favorite dress from her body, Abbied accepted the fact there would be no sleep for her this night. She crawled out of bed to put finishing touches on her wedding dress. If she was doing this, she was going to do it looking her best.

Besides, she needed to focus on getting married before fancying her marital duties.

She smiled at her gown. “Looks like I won't be selling you off after all,” she whispered. “How about a little lace on your sleeve cuffs? That'd be lovely wouldn't it?”

Abbie dug out a bit of fancy lace and set to sewing it onto her dress.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod and Abbie get married and spend their first day as husband and wife together.

Abbie had been awake for hours before the respectful knock sounded at her door. The butterflies threatened to erupt from her throat but she tamped them down and opened the door to see Mister Cr- Ichabod, _Ichabod_ appear, for just a moment, to be similarly affected. 

“...Miss Mills,” he murmured, his hat off and him smiling adoringly at her. “You are a vision in white.”

Abbie ducked her head and smoothed the front of her muslin dress so she could have something to do with her hands. “I know it isn’t terribly fancy considering you're a ranch owner, but I’ve worked on this for six months in my spare time. I wanted to begin my life as a married woman in a dress of my own design. I know you may think it silly,” she said hastily.

Ichabod looked thoughtful. “On the contrary, I do believe I understand the symbolic nature of it.”

Abbie looked up at him and smiled. “I thought you might,” she said softly. 

If she could say so herself, Ichabod looked quite dashing as well. Today he sported a cornflower blue waistcoat and matching ascot, instead of a tie like the day before. She blinked and lightly touched the embroidered flowers at her neck.

Had he picked cornflower blue to match her dress? No… he couldn't have. He hadn't even seen her dress until this moment.

Ichabod found himself reluctant to look anywhere but upon his soon to be bride’s upturned face. In the coming dawn she was even more beautiful than he had remembered - a feat in and of itself considering his eidetic memory. His eyes drifted to her neckline and was taken aback to discover the small flowers embroidered there matched his waistcoat. 

His pale face pinked, “You mentioned cornflower blue being your favorite color in one of the letters you sent my brother. I thought you might enjoy having the shade at your wedding,” he admitted shyly. “Have you packed or do you wish to return after we see the judge?”

Abbie glanced at the bed behind her, on which sat three articles of luggage. “I took the liberty of packing ahead of time. I didn’t know what you may have had planned for today and didn’t wish to... interfere. The last thing I want to be is an inconvenience.”

Ichabod looked stunned for a moment. “You could never be an inconvenience. My only plan today is to marry you and make certain you are settled into your new home,” Ichabod replied tenderly. He strode over to the bed and lifted two of the bags with ease in one hand and hefted the last with a bit of surprise. “Goodness, did you bring bricks?” he teased.

“I have every sewing notion I own in that bag,” Abbie said. “The tools of my trade can be expensive, especially if they are quality. Though most of its heft is derived from my sewing machine.” She grabbed her flowery bonnet where it lay next to her luggage, but did not put it on. The bonnet was adorn with silk cornflowers and heather, a tiny faux bluebird nested in the adornments.

Ichabod was intrigued. “I’ve never seen a sewing machine up close before,” he admitted. “It is amazing how quickly a suit can be made since they have come onto the scene.”

“Indeed. They're truly a salvation to a busy seamstress,” Abbie said, happy to talk shop. Her nerves fell away as she followed Ichabod into the hall and down the stairs. 

The saloon was quiet with just a few men scattered about the tables, hunched over grits, sausage and gravy, and bitter smelling coffee. She followed Ichabod silently, mustering up a short smile for Joe as he waved at them both on their way out. 

She stepped out onto the street, watching Ichabod place her luggage into the back of the carriage gently before he reached down and grasped her about the waist. Abbie fought the urge to push him away and swat at his hands as she quickly realized his intent. Then her breath was taken away as he lifted her as if she truly weighed nothing and set her on the footboard

“Thank you,” she murmured, a bit more breathless than she intended. Her face warmed as she recognized that she had almost panicked over nothing. He was just trying to be a gentleman.

Why must he be so handsome? At this angle, this close, she could see how blue his eyes were, and how strong his cheekbones were over his neatly trimmed beard. Idly she wondered if it was soft to the touch or would it scratch her skin. 

“I thought we’d swing by the newspaper first,” Ichabod murmured and Abbie roused herself from her thoughts as soon as his hands left her person.

“Don’t feel pressure to announce our union,” she said. “Having it officiated and on the books is enough for me,” she said as she placed her bonnet upon her head then pinned and tied it into place.

“Perhaps, but I have never been married before - I think I’d like to go a bit of all out,” he said, his smile more impish than anything. “And on the way I can introduce you to Katrina.”

Abbie is fully prepared to meet a milky-skinned, well endowed woman with dramatic green eyes but when the horse’s ears perk up at the name, she had no choice but to laugh. The mare nickered softly and shook her head haughtily. “Pleasure to meet you, Katrina,” she laughed as they were off. 

She looked up at her soon-to-be husband’s profile; how he sat straight in his seat and held himself with pride and dignity that was both quiet and glaringly loud at times. He continued to subvert her expectations and did his best to allay her fears. Abbie wanted to be taken in by his kindness and obvious good humor.

But she’d seen too many men whose humor ran out when the bottle emptied, or when things didn't go their way, and took their frustrations out on the nearest bit of soft flesh they could reach. How kind eyes turned hard and pitted when the door closed the rest of the world out and you were left with your wits and a demon clad in the flesh of a man.

All too often.

So against her longing Abbie would hold herself aloft and ready - ready to find out what kind of man Ichabod Crane would be when no one was looking. Only then would she be able to truly breathe. 

~*~

The stop by the newspaper office was short enough for Abbie to stay in the carriage; from her vantage point she could see a pretty young woman at the front desk who looked up hopefully as Ichabod strode through the door. 

When he came to stand before her desk Abbie watched the young woman’s optimism fade as her face paled, then she glanced over through the large glass window at Abbie and immediately ducked her head, taking notes and nodding before Ichabod tipped his hat and turned on his heel. 

Abbie waited until he was situated in the carriage before saying anything. “Who was that?” she asked, careful to keep her tone innocuous.

“Lovely woman by the name of Caroline. Came out west with her father to begin a series of newspapers and she’s been nice enough to darn a few socks for me, patch a few of my shirts as needed. We’ve been sorely lacking in the seamstress department,” Ichabod said. “She's mostly accustomed to military uniforming so her skills are rather limited. Most of the ladies special order from Albuquerque if they want a fancy dress.”

Abbie sat higher in the seat. “You told her that her services would no longer be required?” she asked.

Ichabod eyed her in bemusement for a moment before nodding. His lovely bride was barely able to contain the hint of jealousy in her tone. “I did. Mind you, she doesn’t take in sewing for just everyone. She was just a gentleman's alternative to the town’s only advertised seamstress.”

Abbie considered that news as they moved along. She knew there was a possibility of competition when she arrived in Salt River Falls, but hearing about them sets her heart beating faster as she began to think of ways to prove herself and her work superior.

_Politely, of course._

“Her name is Betsy and she works out of Joe’s saloon,” he said offhand. “You met her yesterday…”

“Oh… I think so. The girl that came to fetch me for you. She works out of the saloon?” Abbie repeated. “How? I mean… other than the obvious.”

“A small room in the back, when she’s not tending to her _other_ duties.”

Abbie waits for Ichabod to elaborate. “Are you personally familiar with her other duties?” she prompted, when he didn’t.

Ichabod merely gave her a look.

“Right,” she murmured, glad he can’t see her flush beneath the brim of her bonnet.

Ichabod straightened even more in his seat. “I am a gentleman,” he said stiffly.

“I understand, is all,” Abbie ventured hesitantly. “Out here on the frontier women are in short supply. I mean, that’s why I’m here, after all,” she murmured. “So I wouldn’t think badly of you if-”

“Miss Mills,” Ichabod cut her off crisply. “ _I_ would think badly of myself if I had. I am not opposed to the practice of a woman selling her… goods. They are hers to sell. I just feel that I should receive said… _goods_ through my charm, personality, and what type of life I can offer - after a reasonable courtship season.”

“I suppose a meeting in a saloon for ten minutes is enough of a season,” Abbie said, attempting for levity.

Ichabod did not respond, but she didn't miss the bemused upturn in the corner of his mouth.

There was no more conversation until Ichabod pulls on Katrina’s reins. Abbie lifted her head to take in the courthouse. Her final destination as a single woman. She should feel butterflies or something, something that tells her she’s excited about this new chapter in her life. 

Instead she’s left with something that is not-quite-dread to fill her stomach nervously. 

Apparently Ichabod is similarly affected because he’s slow to move and slow to jump down from the carriage. When he comes round for her she blurts out the first thing to come to mind. 

“Why are you here?”

Ichabod paused in surprise, hands around her waist again.

“I mean,” Abbie added, realizing she wasn't making any sense. “You don’t exactly sound like you’re from around here.”

“No, because I am not,” he conceded as he gently placed her on the ground. “Our parents wished to buy land in America; Bram and I came to help set up the ranch and once it began to turn a profit, we were to return home to London.

“It turned out we did not want to return home. This new land gave us both something we’ve longed for; a chance to be our own men. No one knows our family here or the demons my parents wished to flee; we fail and prosper on our own sweat. That and the land is some of the most beautiful I have ever seen. As soon as I set foot on its soil I knew I would be buried here.”

Abbie couldn’t help but smile at the romantic way he described the west, and had to agree - the train ride was days of gorgeous, breathtaking scenery that was nothing like the brick and mortar filled East she was used to. She thought about the letters she had exchanged with Mister Van Brunt and her heart leapt into her throat.

She had been trying to rectify the brute that had turned her away with the poetic man in the letters. Was it possible, all this time, she had not been writing to Van Brunt after all? Had Ichabod been the one to write so beautifully?

“I’m sure you’ll come to love the harsh beauty as I do,” Ichabod said, rousing Abbie from her thoughts.

“I do believe I am on my way,” she said softly.

They both stood, not quite moving toward their destination, the clapboard municipal building that loomed large before them. 

“Are you sure you have thought this through?” Abbie asked at the same time Ichabod states, “If this has moved too quickly for you, we can wait a few days.”

They both laugh at the other’s obvious discomfort. 

“I am still of the mind I had when I asked you to marry me,” Ichabod said.

“Time will not change my mind, either,” Abbie replied. She held her head high and nodded to herself. “Let’s get married.”

Ichabod smiled at the steel in his soon to be bride’s spine and inclined his head. “Yes, indeed.” He offered his arm and led Abbie inside, where the rapidly warming morning air still held a bit of cool. An older woman sat at the front desk; her posture was ramrod straight and she took no care to disguise her once over on both their persons. Leaned against the wall next to her was a double barrel rifle.

“Good morning, Mrs. Reyes,” Ichabod said respectfully, removing his hat as he came closer, allowing Abbie to do the same. “I’m - _we’re_ here to see August Corbin.”

“In what capacity?” The woman asked briskly. She swept her gaze over Abbie again. “Did one of Bram’s men insult this lady?” Her fingers flinched as if eager to grab the rifle and issue out justice for any insult aimed at her.

Abbie hid a smile behind arranging the ribbons on her bonnet. This Mrs. Reyes sounded like she was used to commanding this building, and brooked no argument. It reminded Abbie of the women she used to sew for back East - commanding enough to bring a soldier to his knees. 

Except this woman was very obviously either Mexican or born of someone from Mexico. Or perhaps from one of the local tribes. She waited to see how Ichabod would respond to a command from such a woman as Mrs. Reyes.

“Actually we are in need of _Judge_ Corbin,” Ichabod said proudly as though he didn’t mind the authority in the woman’s voice. “I-We aim to be married this morning.”

Mrs. Reyes danced over to Abbie with surprise. Abbie smiled brightly. “Damn it, I just lost a whole penny to Frank. I’ll never live this down,” she groused as she pushed back from the desk to reveal she was heavily pregnant. “Corbin seems to have wandered off… or he's hiding. Y’all can stay here; I’ll go get him.”

“Mrs. Reyes, please, allow me,” Abbie said as she stepped up. “You seem to be in of as much rest…”

“You don’t think I can walk down the hall,” Mrs. Reyes deadpanned. “Pregnant women have been walking forever. Maybe you’ll even find out for yourself soon enough.” She eyed Ichabod speculatively. “Maybe.”

Abbie smiled patiently. “Yes, but do you _want_ to make the journey?” 

Mrs. Reyes bit back a smile as she thumped back down in her seat with a grunt. “Go down that hall and turn right and it’s the third door on the left.”

Abbie threw Ichabod an impish grin before she took off down the hall as directed. She came to the third door on the left and knocked loudly. 

There was a bit of commotion and some muffled swearing before the door was thrown open by a slightly disheveled man with a head full of silver hair and a matching beard. “You are not Leena,” he rumbled, with a voice as deep as Ichabod’s, and twice as commanding. 

Abbie shook her head. “I am not,” she agreed. 

“Thank God for small blessings. I guess this means I should be nice to you, right?” he asked, using the towel hanging around his neck to wipe his face and hands. 

“I think a bit of niceness is good for everyone,” Abbie ventured. The man laughed and she couldn’t help the curl of her lips in response. “Are you Judge August Corbin?”

“That depends, little lady. Did my son do something?” Corbin said. “Rest assured, if he did, he will be apologizing by noon.”

Abbie blinked in confusion. “I am not sure who your son is, sir,” she said hesitantly.

“Then I am Sheriff and Judge, August Corbin. And who might you be little lady,” he asked. “Don't reckon I've seen you around before.”

“Grace Abigail Mills, sir. Seamstress by trade. I am hoping you’ll marry Ichabod Crane,” Abbie said, then hastily added, “To me, of course. What I mean is, Ichabod Crane and I wish to be wed.”

Corbin looked at her a bit closer. “Ichabod Crane, huh? Well, I just lost a whole penny,” he muttered.

“Funny, Mrs. Reyes said the same thing a moment ago,” Abbie said as she watched Corbin move back in front of the small mounted mirror on the wall. He glared at himself as he twisted his tie around, grumbling and attempting again. 

“Would you care for some assistance?” Abbie asked, just barely managing to keep the smile from her face. 

Corbin sighed and glanced down at the small basin beneath the mirror in irritation. “Emma used to do my tie every morning,” he muttered and glanced over at Abbie. “Emma’s my wife,” he clarified. “She said she enjoyed it so she would do it for me…”

“Would you like me to fetch her?” she offered.

Corbin’s smile turned wan. “More than anything,” he said. “But she’s gone from us, and beyond such petty worries as my inability to tie my tie like a gentleman.”

Abbie stepped forward with a kindly smile. “We all have things that have seemed to escape our learning,” she said as she stopped before him expectantly. Corbin straightened quickly and with deft fingers she made short work of the tie. “There,” she said as she smoothed his lapels. “Right as rain, Mister Corbin.”

“Well ain't you just worth losing a penny over.” Corbin grabbed her hands and patted them both, dwarfing them in his own hands. “Thank you, Miss Mills,” he said thickly. “I can manage often enough with plenty tries but today… today just seemed beyond my grasp.”

Abbie nodded. “I know Emma understands, Sheriff,” she said. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Corbin says lowly. He seemed to gather himself and let Abbie’s hands drop. “Marriage, eh?” he asked as Abbie nodded. “Are you sure this is something you want to do?”

Abbie scoffed quietly. “I haven’t many options,” she said bluntly. “I came here with a promise to be wed and I thought all hope had gone but Mister Cra-” Abbie took a deep breath. “Ichabod saved me from what would have been a really difficult position.”

“What about love?” he asked.

“Love is a luxury rarely afforded a lady. As long as he is a good man I could hope for no better match. Is... he?” she asked, her voice breaking just slightly. 

Corbin tilted his head. “Is he what, my dear?”

“Is he a good man,” she whispered. “Can I trust him?”

Corbin considered his words carefully. “He wakes up every morning and wants to be a good man. He puts in the work even when no one’s looking. He’s very honest, most importantly he’s honest with himself. He can get a bit… _passionate_ about things, but I suppose you can chalk that up to really wanting to live.”

Abbie nodded slowly. She’d seen bits and pieces of what Corbin had said already.

“Still want to marry him?”

Abbie scoffed. The thought of turning Ichabod Crane down had not crossed her mind since he’d asked her. “I’m steadfast in my decision,” she said.

“Damn, guess I have to fork over that penny after all.” Corbin suddenly beamed. “Good choice,” he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the room and back down the hall. “Now if you had been here for his brother I might have pointed out there are plenty of dashing fellas in Salt River Falls looking for a wife. Like my son for example. He could use a fine lady to whip him into shape. But, I’m sure you and Ichabod will have much happiness,” he said, just as they rounded the corner.

He watched Ichabod’s eyes fall on Abbie and the smile that covered the young man’s face made him ache just a bit - he knew he had the same besotted grin on his mug when he saw Emma. “Well, Ichabod, you don’t do things in halves, do you? Done got yourself a whole lady.”

Ichabod straightened self-consciously, as though he were being scrutinised by his father. “Anything worth doing well is worth doing right,” he said as he held his hand out to Abbie.

She ducked her head but almost rushed to Ichabod’s side, putting her hand in his. 

“Lord,” Leena muttered. “I might need to open a window.” She glared at everyone. “Are we going to get this started or are we going to stand around and watch them make eyes at each other?”

And that’s how that morning, after rustling up another witness, Ichabod Crane and Grace Abigail Mills became husband and wife.

~*~

Everything had happened in such a flurry of events Abbie's head was still spinning when she was preparing for bed. After getting married to an almost complete stranger, her day had been filled with moving her things to her new home… she hadn't even had time to write her sister to amend the last letter that said she was returning to Sleepy Hollow.

So after finishing braiding her hair, Abbie took a seat at the beautiful dark stained desk to write her sister and open the invitation to come to the beautiful--erm, lovely--um, quaint--hmm… the town of Salt River Falls. Abbie doubted Jenny would be able to come, if she even wanted to. Jenny had spent the final days before she left proclaiming she was being abandoned for some strange man that may just want to murder her. Not to mention, Abbie was fairly certain Lucian was keeping a close watch on Jenny.

Abbie was still going to invite her. She looked up when the bedroom door opened and her new husband walked in. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and her throat constricted.

“This room will do nicely, thank you,” Abbie said briskly. “But please knock from now on…”

Ichabod blinked at her. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “I shall make note to do so in the future. But…” he blushed and looked down at his feet. “I had brought your things to my own room… as we are husband and wife.”

Abbie felt her own face warm. She hadn't thought about that. Suddenly she realized there were numerous men's toiletries already in the room. Of course it would be expected that she would share a room and even a bed with her husband. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Oh,” she croaked. “I had assumed you wouldn't want to…” she looked away, her face aflame. “I didn't think you would intend to…”

Ichabod’s face flushed even more. “I… well… what I… for the sake of no one being able to contest the union… we should at least share a bedroom. I do not require… I would never ask… I wouldn't dream of making you feel pressured to…”

Abbie thought about the man that had sent her west. About the debts Jenny owed him… he probably wouldn't take too kindly to Van Brunt’s refusal of her and her marrying someone else. She doubted the bridal service would be able to market her as a virgin bride if everyone thought she and Ichabod were husband and wife in every aspect.

Not that she was a virgin anyway. She just knew men folk couldn't tell a difference if they wasn't told different. She can’t afford to have this unravel.

_Make this work, Abbie,_ she thinks.

“You're right,” she said softly. She just had to get Jenny here as quickly as possible. “I thank you for yo--what are you doing?”

She couldn't tear her eyes away as Ichabod pulled his shirt off over his head. “I am preparing for bed,” he replied. He set to pulling back the blankets and smoothing out the mattress, meticulously ridding it of lumps.

She watched him as he stripped down to his underwear, oblivious to her wide eyed gaze. Abbie licked her lips lightly as she drank in his thin but muscular body.

Her face felt warm and she swallowed a breath. _Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to go fully into their marriage--no._ She wasn't going to even fathom the idea of letting herself get bedded by a man she just met the day before. No matter how handsome he was. Even if he was her husband.

But good Lord.

Her eyes roamed over him and she felt that small pang between her legs as she followed the dusky trail of hair down his lean stomach. She tried not to think about the… _gracious_ imprint at the front of his underwear and turned back to her letter.

_Good Lord. How could he look like that and go about his business as usual, as though she wasn't even looking at him_? Was he trying to be modest or was he testing her? Or maybe the Lord was testing her.

Once she finished her letter to Jenny, Abbie took a deep breath and moved to the bed. Ichabod was laying on his back, upon the left side of the bed, lamp extinguished, eyes closed. She slowly pulled back the sheets and slipped between them, her heart racing. She extinguished her lamp and settled back against her pillow.

Abbie wasn't certain if the tension was her own or if she was feeling it from Ichabod. She closed her eyes and shifted around to get comfortable. She also tried not to think about her husband pressing her into the downy mattress with her legs wrapped around his waist, taking her with passionate abandonment like one of the men in her novels.

Wasn’t it too soon for such thoughts? He seemed just as hesitant as she. She couldn't help but wonder, if she had wed Mr. Van Brunt, would she be being forced to submit as his wife on this night? 

She sighed raggedly and shifted again. A moment later she felt a warm, gentle hand on her hip. She froze and her heart stammered. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed her instincts to trust this man were true.

“Rest at ease, my wife, I shall not make attempts upon your person without your express permission,” he said through the darkness then removed his hand.

Her mind raced as she thought of another man who had shared her bed but hadn’t had such common decency. She waited until Ichabod began to softly snore before she quietly began to cry.

~*~

Ichabod had awoken to something smooth and warm under his hand. It had taken him a moment to realize his bride had scooted closer to him in her sleep and that her gown had ridden up, which brought his hand to the swell of her buttocks.

He had immediately drew his hand away, thinking if she awoke to it she might go rigid as she had the night before, and eased from the bed. Abigail--her preferred name was Abbie but he felt it entirely too informal at this juxtaposition--had hummed softly and rolled over to bury her face in his pillow. 

He made his way to his desk and startled when he realized his lovely wife had left a neatly penned page to her sister sitting out in the open. Ichabod glanced toward his sleeping bride then looked at the elegant scrawl.

_My dearest sister,_

_Much has happened since my last letter. I will not be returning to Sleepy Hollow and I beg of you to make haste to Salt River Falls before Lucian gets word that Mr Van Brunt refused to marry me. I have instead found a very kind gentleman--coincidentally it is Mr Van Brunt’s brother--that wished to have me as his wife. He has opened our home to you as well so you need not worry about Lucian or anyone else in Sleepy Hollow._

_Love always,_

_Abbie_

Instead of leaving a missive for his bride to find while he attended to business, Ichabod left his desk and wandered to the kitchen to prepare a hearty breakfast for her. He hadn't the servants his brother had at his home, so he was well accustomed to caring for himself. 

Now that he had a wife, he was more than happy to care for her as well. He wasn't even certain what had prompted him to offer his hand in marriage to Abigail. He just knew, when he had gone to speak to her, he had already decided to do so regardless of whether she was repulsive or not, because of Bram’s rudeness.

To his surprise, Miss Abigail had been absolutely stunning. While her shorter stature and petite figure would make her more susceptible to the desert heat, she seemed to be the sort of woman any man would be fortunate to call his wife.

Beautiful. Kind. Educated. And she was a talented seamstress from what he had seen, made by her tiny hands, thus far. 

It had been hearing her cry, when she had obviously thought him asleep, that had prompted his plans for this day. He had planned to send for her sister to come to Salt River Falls, maybe even see if he could rustle up some work for her by sweet talking Mrs Collins at the General Store. Two things, he suspected, would help her transition to her new home quicker.

After all, when he had returned to this land after his parents passed, it had helped him to have his brother and to immerse himself in relearning the ins and outs of his parent's ranch.

He was still cooking breakfast when Abigail emerged from the bedroom, still in her gown, rubbing her eyes. He gave her a tentative smile as his eyes swept downward to her exposed knees and lower legs. “Good morning Miss Abigail. I have prepared a hearty breakfast.”

His bride's eyes blinked blearily then widened when she saw a glass full of juice. She rushed over and picked up the glass. “Is this _orange juice_?” she asked excitedly.

“It is,” Ichabod replied. “Squeezed it myself this morning.”

Abigail studied him a moment. “It must have been expensive…”

“I have two trees which I diligently tend so expense is not an issue,” he said. “I have business to attend to in town. If you would like, you may spend the day exploring your new home and getting settled in. Just be mindful of the cattle.” He looked down at his feet then back to her. “Unless you would like to accompany me.”

Abigail smiled brightly. “I would love to accompany you. I need to send a letter to my sister, letting her know she has been invited to come live with us. Unless you’ve changed your mind,” she said quickly.

“No, of course not,” he said. “Your sister is as welcome in our home as you are.”

If Ichabod thought her smile suddenly looked strained, he would never admit it. Nor would he admit that he wanted to know who Lucian was. Obviously it distressed his bride to the point she wanted her sister to come to the heat of New Mexico before he found out Bram had rejected her.

Then there was the reactions he got when he touched her in certain ways. She didn't respond as someone who had freshly received injury of some kind, but it had been recent enough that she jumped, couldn't fight the urge to recoil, or just remained guarded and aware.

“I have a personal messenger that can get your letter to her faster than the regular post,” Ichabod suggested. Not to mention Bram rarely used a personal messenger because he was a ludicrous pincher of pennies. So Abigail's letter would make it to her sister long before Bram’s post made it halfway across the country. “And I can send her the funds to transport herself to Salt River Falls.”

“Thank you,” Abigail replied, her voice soft and tender. “You're too kind… really.”

Ichabod smiled down at her when she moved close to him. “I know all too well how comforting having your sibling close can be, when moving to a new place.” His fingers itched to tuck that ever vagrant curl away from her face but he reigned the urge in.

Abigail looked as if she wanted to say something else, but changed her mind as they dug into their first meal of the day. They spoke of their childhoods--her parents had died, leaving her and her sister alone; his father had died when he was a baby and his mother had wed his father's best friend and bore Bram. His mother had suffered from a case of hysterics after his brother was born but that she had eventually recovered well enough to function again. 

He didn't dare ask who Lucian was just yet because she hadn't mentioned it.

Ichabod found his gaze strayed to some part of her more often than not and if he wasn’t mistaken he caught a curious glance or two at his own profile. He had never felt this way before, the odd flutter of desire for someone who was for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

“When do you wish to depart?” 

Ichabod startled at the first words said in almost six minutes. 

“After breakfast,” he said, eyeing Abigail’s gown.

She glanced down at herself and emitted something of a squeak, covering her chest with one arm. Ichabod felt his face warm as he dropped his gaze to his plate.

“Of course,” Abigail muttered, grabbing the last of the toast from her plate and shoving it into her mouth. “May I have twenty minutes?” she asked around the mouthful.

Ichabod can feel he was unsuccessful at keeping his amusement from his face. “I think the least I can do is wait for my wife to dress.”

Abigail ducked her head and fled from the table as if the devil himself were on her lovely heels. Ichabod shook his head and returned to his coffee, having nothing to do but wait on his wife.

_His wife._

He smiled and nearly dribbled onto his waistcoat. 

True to her word, eighteen minutes later Abigail returned from their bedroom, resplendent in a red and gold striped dress, with matching hat, gloves, and parasol. She looked just like the splendid ladies he and Bram secretly (and not so secretly) gawked at when they landed in New York City, full of sophistication and worldly knowledge.

And now such a lovely woman is his wife. 

Abigail looked up, twisting her parasol in her hands. “What?” she asked softly.

Ichabod shook his head as he rose from the table. “You look magnificent,” he said, offering his arm. She glanced away with a small smile but accepted, tucking her small hand into the crook of his elbow. “Are you ready?”

Abigail nods. “As I’ll ever be,” she murmured, looking up at him with a little cheek. “Lead the way, husband.”

Ichabod can’t be sure his boots touched the ground on the way to the carriage.

~*~

Abbie felt her face warm every time Ichabod touched her. Mostly because she was remembering how, about half an hour before he had awoken, his hand had come to a rest on her posterior. She had lain there pretending to sleep even after he became aware of where his hand was and removed it.

And then breakfast…

She had thought any man that sent for or debated a mail order bride would have been a rough and rugged cowboy type that needed a wife to provide a hot meal for his belly and a warm body to cleave to. 

But Mister Cr--Ichabod-- her husband-- seemed fairly self-sufficient and fancied himself quite the gentleman. Oh who was she kidding, he was a gentleman. A dying breed of gentleman. Most so-called gentleman these days tried to make everything about them but disguised it as him being focused on her.

With Ichabod, she felt he truly was focused upon her. When she had spoken about her home over breakfast, he had watched her face intently and listened to every word. No matter how many times she looked away and said she was talking too much, he smiled gently and asked her to please continue.

He had watched with interest when she had taken her first taste of orange juice. His eyes were alight when she had drank nearly the entire glass before lowering it.

It seemed he never missed a chance to touch her. His fingers fluttered over her hand when he passed her a basket of warm, fluffy biscuits and when he handed her fresh butter. His hand rested at her waist when he guided her to the steps of the carriage. When she tentatively slipped his hand into the crook of his elbow, he placed a hand over her fingers.

When he walked alongside her, he held himself with pride but not the arrogant pride she had seen in her brief encounter with Van Brunt or to show off a prize like the men back home… it was almost as though he took pride in the fact it was he that she had chosen to be at her side.

It was quite the deviation from the gents of New York City and Sleepy Hollow. Abbie rather liked it. And if she held herself a little more proudly, too, she'd never tell.

They drew a few odd looks, obviously, but most of the gawkers did precisely that. One fellow had the audacity to laugh bawdily and shout across the street, “What's wrong Crane? Too good for your own?”

But then a large native man seemed to appear from nowhere and slugged the fellow in the face and initiated a saloon brawl. Abbie stared at the kerfuffle wide eyed before she glanced up at Ichabod, who looked absolutely unperturbed. “That happens,” was all he said, gently pulling on her arm so they could continue on in peace. “Miss Ruby's can be a bit of a rough and rowdy place.”

Together they entered the general store. It was there they separated so Ichabod could see to putting in an order for the ranch. Abbie meandered around the wall of fabrics. She was admiring a beautiful blue silk when a deep voice intoned near her ear.

“Your kind aren't allowed in here, Miss.”

Abbie felt her spine straighten and she turned to address the very man that had just slugged the bar patron minutes ago. He smiled brightly.

“Pretty ladies _like you_ are supposed to send servants cause fellas will start fights over her,” he quickly added, taking her hand and bowing over it elegantly. “My name's Ash… like the tree.”

“Ash?” she asked softly, her mouth suddenly feeling parched. “Abigail Crane.”

Ash gave her a wink then kissed the back of her hand. “If you don't mind me being too bold, you're far too pretty to be in a place like Salt River Falls, ma’am. It's been all anyone's been able to talk about.”

Abbie snatched her hand away and turned her nose up at the man as she put her attention back on the silk. “I'll have you know I am a married woman sir. People shouldn't be talking.”

Ash’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned against the edge of the shelf, arms folded over his chest. “I know. You wrangled in my brother, Crane…”

Abbie looked the man over. Warmth crept to her cheeks. Just how many brothers did her husband have? And were they all handsome? Although Ash wasn't just handsome, he was… gorgeous. 

His long black hair hung loose over his shoulders. Where Ichabod was skinny and tall, Ash was broad and muscular, much like Van Brunt except… much nicer looking. He looked like he could easily sweep a woman off her feet without trying.

To be fair, he looked like what she imagined the hero of one of the many half penny novels she read would look.

Abbie jumped when she heard footsteps followed by her husband's voice. “Ah, Ashley. There you are, I was hoping I would happen upon you today. I see you've already met my lovely bride, Abigail.”

“Ashley?” Abbie couldn't help but giggle.

Ash narrowed his eyes at Ichabod. “You're an ass, Crane.”

“Honestly, Ashley, the tree thing really does nothing for the ladies…” Ichabod hmphed.

The two men held each other's gaze for a moment then laughed and embraced. When they pulled away from each other, Ichabod beamed happily. “Abigail, Ash is my dearest friend.” 

Ash snorted. “Dearest friend, my Shawnee ass. We’re brothers in spirit if not by blood. I didn't follow your pasty ass all the way to New Mexico from New York because I'm your _friend_ , brother.”

“Please… Ashley… there is a _lady_ present,” Ichabod sighed.

“That there is,” Ash said with a flirtatious grin. “One far too beautiful to be a mail order bride. Much less _your_ wife.” He looked Abbie over appreciatively. “Kinda makes me want to save up my money to get one.”

“I have a sister,” Abbie commented. “I mean, I'm not sure that she's the marrying type but…” She looked up at Ichabod affectionately. “Ichabod said he could get her here and we can see what happens.”

Ash’s brows arched and he beamed. “Do I smell work coming my way, brother? Is that why you were hoping I was around?”

“My lovely wife has a correspondence which needs to be taken to Sleepy Hollow as soon as possible and she would like for her sister to be brought to Salt River Falls,” Ichabod explained. “It is dire it gets there before the regular post makes it there.”

“Easy. Consider it done,” Ash said with a nod. “Wanted to see my sister anyway. She wrote me saying her and James are expecting. She'll probably be ready to pop by now.”

“Well, then send my warmest congratulations as well,” Ichabod said.

Once Abbie handed her letter over to Ash, he gave both her and Ichabod a crushing hug and was on his way.

Abbie admired the silk again for a moment before sighing and moving to the more economical fabrics. “I need to make a few things that are more friendly to the heat,” she said. “My current frocks and gowns are more suitable to New York…”

“You can have whatever your heart desires,” Ichabod said softly. “There are also a few things for sale that can make do until you've made more…”

Her eyes drifted back to the soft blue silk then returned to the muslin and cotton fabrics. She pulled a few bolts of cotton and walked with Ichabod to the counter.

“May I please have… six yards of this, and three yards of each of the others?” Abbie asked.

The matronly white woman behind the counter peered at Abbie over tiny specs. “Oh my,” she hummed. “Aren't you a pretty little thing…” She looked at Ichabod and smiled coyly then she looked Abbie over appreciatively. “Look at your tiny waist… so petite…” She tittered happily.

“Miss Coll--”

The woman jutted her hand out. “Corrina Collins, Sweetheart. What kind of corset do you use to get such a lovely figure?”

“I… don't use corsets unless it's a special occasion,” Abbie said as she hesitantly reached out to shake the woman's hand. It was then Abbie noticed half of the woman's face drooped and the hand on the same side of her face was drawn tightly against her person. Her drawn hand made it look like she was in a permanent state of feigning feminine surprise and clutching her pearls.

“Miss Collins used to be the town seamstress until she was struck by paralysis,” Ichabod said. “And she is not always pleased with the work the current one does.”

Miss Collins sniffed with displeasure. “A proper lady or gentleman shouldn't have to go to a brothel to have a pair of trousers or dress hemmed. Besides, Betsy is hardly the best and she prefers to spread her legs than do any actual seamstress work.” She looked back at Abbie and tittered again. “Forgive me, darling, you're just… so much lovelier than anyone would have expected… What sort of skills do you have as far as sewing?”

“I can do anything,” Abbie replied. “I can even make custom clothing, under things, corsetry, I can do it all.”

“Normally I charge two dollars a month to rent my fitting room. But… since you are Ichabod’s wife… I'll only charge a dollar,” Miss Collins offered. 

Abbie felt her heart stop. That's was a good deal, to be honest, the lady she used to rent from in Sleepy Hollow wanted six dollars a month, but she wasn't sure if…

“That is amenable if _my wife_ approves,” Ichabod said with a gentle bob of his head. 

She fails to hide her smile at the way he puffed out his chest when he said the phrase _my wife_. “It's perfect,” Abbie said softly.

Ichabod placed his hand on her waist and lightly kissed her temple. Abbie blushed and wrinkled her nose at the surprising softness of his beard on her skin. “Is there anything else that you would like, my dear? Anything at all?”

Abbie looked back toward the bolt of blue silk longingly. Instead she ordered a couple chemises, simple cotton dresses, a new bonnet, and a new pair of shoes along with a few toiletries.

“Are you certain that is all?” Ichabod asked.

Abbie nodded firmly. Already she’d spent a mind boggling amount of money - close to six whole dollars! “Yes. That's all.”

Miss Collins tutted and shook her head at Ichabod when he opened his mouth to speak. He clamped his mouth shut then reconsidered his words.

“We can go get a meal whilst awaiting for everything to be compiled,” Ichabod suggested. “Go on ahead and tell Joe to get us a table prepared while I bring the carriage to the back.”

Abbie smiled softly. “Okay.”

She meandered out of the shop and made her way toward the Golden Nugget, unaware that her new husband had retrieved the bolt of blue silk as soon as she left the shop.

Now by herself Abbie took a greater look at her surroundings. Every building seemed to be made of clapboard rather than brick, save the bank further down the street. It definitely gave everything a different feel than New York. Abbie wasn’t sure if she liked it more or not, but the difference sure let her breathe a little easier, hold her head a little higher, and nod at those she passed by.

Not everyone returned her salutation - that was to be expected. They might be in the West, but the people came from the East and South and could only be expected to be so progressive. 

“Well howdy, ma’am,” one gentleman greeted. “I heard there was a pretty little thing that had come into town.” He was a tall black man, while his clothing wasn't starched and pressed, Abbie could tell he was a respectable member of the community. Her eyes fell to the star on his chest. 

A Federal Marshall! A real one in the flesh!

“Good morning, Marshall,” Abbie greeted gently.

The man grinned widely. “Frank Irving, ma’am,” he provided. “You must be the lovely lady that married Ichabod Crane and had Leena chucking pennies at me this morning.”

Abbie nodded. “I am,” she said, jutting her hand out. “Abigail Crane. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances Marshall Irving.”

She had never met an actual Federal Marshall before. Frank took her hand and bowed politely. “Call me Frank, Mrs Crane, please,” Frank said. “Me and one other marshall work this region. If you don't mind, let me escort you to your destination.”

Abbie was about to politely decline but she saw his eyes flicker left and right behind her. A chill courses up her spine when, in the window she saw the reflection of some rough looking men eyeing her. “Thank you, Frank, I would be honored to be escorted by a fine gentleman such as yourself.”

He tucked her hand into the curve of his elbow. “It's Friday so I can only guess it's lunch at the Golden Nugget,” Frank commented. When Abbie looked up at him, he smirked. “Your husband is a creature of habit, ma’am. He's also very naive. That's the only reason, I imagine, he thought a beautiful woman or black woman walking alone would be fine. And you just happen to be both. And you're married to the richest man in town. Prime kidnapping target by the outlaws in this area. I'll make sure to have a chat with him once you're safely at your destination.”

Abbie gulped gently. “Thank you, Frank. The way you talk, you're a husband and father.”

“That I am,” he replied with a nod. “My wife helps out the town solicitor. And my daughter helps Mrs Collins a couple days a week with putting in orders.” He nodded toward a wooden ramp at the end of the sections of buildings. “When my Macey had her accident, Mister Crane and his fellas were kind enough to make those ramps so we didn't have to lift her chair any time we came to town.”

“Perhaps I will have the pleasure of meeting her,” Abbie said. “I'm opening shop in Mrs. Collins’ fitting rooms.” 

Frank arched his brows with interest. “Seamstress?” he asked.

Abbie nodded. “The frock I'm wearing is one of my creations.”

They stopped a moment and Frank held her at arms length then had her twirl around. “I'll be damned,” he hooted. “I may bring the missus around to have you make her a couple of nice frocks.” He resumed escorting her. “Cynthia is always admiring all the pretty adverts we get from New York City. And now we've got us a proper New York seamstress in Salt River Falls.”

Abbie laughed. She had a feeling she and Frank were going to get on fine. By time they reached The Golden Nugget, Frank himself was debating a new suit and she had acquired an apprentice in his daughter--who loved to sew but couldn't find a proper lady to teach her the trade as Mrs Collins wasn't physically able and the only other actual seamstress worked out of a whorehouse.

Once she was seated at a table, Frank tipped his hat and left Abbie to await her husband's arrival.

Whilst sitting alone, Abbie let herself get caught up in the thought that she was a married woman. She had a husband. A handsome husband. A kind husband.

The more she heard about him, the more inclined she was toward wanting to give him the chance to hold her heart in his hands. It was a far cry from when she had been warned against becoming involved with Lucian but she had chosen to be blind to anything negative anyone said.

Abbie was so lost in her thoughts she didn't notice when one of the girls of the Golden Nugget slipped into the seat next to her. 

"Well aren't you the prettiest thing I've seen in a while."

Abbie glanced up, faced with a smiling Betsy. "Miss Betsy," she said warily. "Afternoon."

Betsy tilted her head, looking Abbie up and down. "I love your dress," she gushed. "Where did you get it?"

"I made it. I’m a seamstress," Abbie said.

"What a coincidence, so am I. Amongst other things," Betsy said conspiratorially as she leaned in, giving Abbie full view of her considerable assets. "This is the West, honey. Us women need to diversify."

Abbie glanced around, hoping to see the lanky shadow of her husband. Unfortunately, there was only the small murmurs of conversation from tables close by – no one paid attention to her or her table. "Miss Betsy, I don't mean to be rude, but is there something that you wanted?"

"Why, yes there is. I heard about your unfortunate luck with Bram van Brunt; but a pretty girl like you don't have to go back home. I've been having many men asked me about you and they are willing to spend all type of coin to have you for a night. You don't even have to stick around forever, at least when you go back you will have some money."

This wouldn’t be the first time a madam, or someone of equal or lesser intent, had approached Abbie – but now that she's married, it irks her even more.

"Miss Betsy, I am flattered, but I do believe my husband would like me to decline."

Betsy blinked, the easy smile slipping from her face and revealing a cold surprise. “Van Brunt married you after all?"

Before Abbie could elaborate, a few raucous men entered the establishment, Ichabod in the middle looking slightly embarrassed as they clapped him on the shoulders and back. 

"Hey Joe! We've got ourselves a new married man! Ichabod done caught himself a pretty little thing!" One of the men howled. “And a woman at that!”

Abbie can't help but smile at his red-faced bashfulness as he pried himself away from the men. He smoothed down his vest and coat and dusted his hat off. “I fail to see how it is so surprising,” he huffed-or rather tried but he looked so damn pleased with himself.

He looked around and when their eyes met, Abbie’s smile widened. She heard Betsy’s disbelieving “no” as Ichabod approached the table as though his feet were on clouds.

He took Abbie’s hand and kissed it. “Apologies, Abigail, Ash told some of the farm hands and…” He closed his eyes and sighed as the group of fellas whistled and cheered, then demanded a kiss. “They wished to join us for lunch. Whether we want them to or not.”

Abbie delicately stood and brushed her lips against his bearded cheek. “I'd be delighted to get to know the fellas.”

Ichabod gave her a dopey smile then looked away shyly. His head jerked back in surprise. “Miss Elizabeth. To what do my wife and I owe the pleasure?”

Abbie tried to maintain a smile that wasn't smug as Betsy stood. “Nothing. Just some chatter between girls. That's all,” she said tersely. If looks could have killed both her and Ichabod would have been dead. “Good day Mr and Mrs. Crane.”

Before they could say anything Betsy took her leave and Abbie found herself squished up against her husband at the table as the boisterous farm hands crowded the table. It wasn't a problem until their lunch was delivered to the table and it became obvious there was not enough room to move and eat.

After a moment, Ichabod’s arm slipped around Abbie's waist and together they managed to cut their fried chop in order to feed each other.

It was as Abbie was delicately dabbing breadcrumbs from Ichabod’s mustache that she realized she could easily see herself falling in love with her husband.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have updated the tags to reflect possible trigger warnings in future chapters. but rest assured when those moments come we will warn about them in the chapter as well and will be keeping details to a minimal. Just enough to know IT HAPPENED but no details on what EXACTLY happens.

Abbie eyed the package on the table curiously. 

It bore her name and was neatly wrapped in brown paper, bound with string. She had spent the last three hours helping Ichabod tuck away their supplies and this was the final item. Ichabod was still outside, storing the grains and corn for the horses and chickens.

She was at a loss as to whether she should open it or wait. So she pulled a chair away from the table and sat there watching the mystery package until the screen door creaked open and her sweaty husband entered the house. She watched as he combed his damp hair from his face with his fingers, giving her a gentle smile before moving toward the pitcher of water on the counter.

_Stupid girl, get moving instead of staring_!

Abbie gasped and hurried over to pour him a cup but his hands closed around hers and he plucked the cup from her fingers. “I am quite capable of getting my own water, Abigail,” he said softly then lightly tipped up her chin. “You are my wife, not my servant.”

Her heart set to flutter as Ichabod’s gaze lingered on her lips. She moistened her lips and swallowed hard before she looked away toward the package. “I wasn't sure what to do with this one…” Abbie said, returning to her seat. 

“It's a wedding gift,” Ichabod replied. “From me, to you… you can open it if you would like…” he blushed “...or not, if you're not ready to accept it.”

He slipped into the seat next to her as she chewed her bottom lip and pulled at the hemp cording. Abbie paused. “I didn't get you anything…”

He reached up and trailed the back of his fingers along her jaw. “Becoming my bride is gift enough.”

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, then returned her attention to carefully opening the package. Her heart leapt into her throat at the first glimpse of blue silk. “Oh… my…”

“I saw you admiring it,” he whispered. Abbie felt lightheaded as she carefully unfolded the material. “And I was uncertain how much you would require for a dress… so I purchased all of it.”

“All of it,” Abbie squeaked. “Ichabod… this… this had to be expensive… that was an entire bolt… roughly 50 yards of…” Her head started spinning and she felt nauseous. Why would he get her such an expensive gift? What was he expecting in return?

Ichabod’s eyes grew wide. “Are you displeased…?”

“No… yes… no…” Abbie said weakly. “I love it… but… it's so expensive…”

He rested his hand over both of hers, which were clenching the silk. “Abigail… you and I shall never again have another wedding day. Permit this one indulgence when I knew you would never ask for such finery. And all I ask in return is that you make yourself something beautiful.”

Tears stung her eyes but she quickly mopped them away. “You act like you know me so well…”

“I know nothing more than what I saw with my own eyes,” Ichabod replied. “That you were admiring it and, despite my giving you the opportunity and leave to get anything, you denied yourself a very simple extravagance.”

Abbie smoothed her hands over the fabric. “It's… beautiful,” she whispered. _A simple extravagance_. When she looked up, Ichabod had leaned in closer. Her heart thumped frantically as he gingerly tilted up her chin. For once it wasn't because she was dreading what might happen next.

“Just know this, Grace Abigail,” he murmured. “I wish only for your happiness. I have the means to make certain you never want for anything. And it is my hope that, in time, we grow to love one another.”

Abbie felt like melting into the sinful pit his voice came forth from. Her breath hitched as he slowly moved in closer, until his warm breath tickled her lips. Her mind tried to remind her of another time sweet words had been used to lull her into a sense of security. But she quickly shoved that voice aside in favor of the intoxication her husband was making her feel.

“Abigail… may I kiss you?” Ichabod asked. His thumb stroked her cheek and jaw despite his other fingers still tilting her chin.

A soft whimper left her lips. She wanted him to. As she tilted her head and leaned closer, just moment before their lips could touch, a loud crash came from outside. They jumped apart and Ichabod leapt to his feet. Ichabod grabbed a rifle from the wall as he lumbered out the door.

Abbie hurried behind him. He paused briefly then pointed toward three retreating coyotes, one of them trying to free itself from some rope netting. Ichabod stood, using his rifle as a prop. He simply watched the third coyote wriggled free of the netting and scampered along behind the others.

“You didn't shoot them,” Abbie commented. Normally, in her novels, the hero would shoot just about anything. Though, to be fair, the coyote were nowhere near as mangy as they were described in her books. In fact they looked quite… cute.

“Why would I shoot an innocent creature that was just looking for food?” Ichabod asked.

That… was a good point. Abbie felt her face warm and she shook her head. “It seemed like the sort of thing you do in the west…”

“I suppose I need to put some food out for them if they're foraging in the storage,” Ichabod commented. “Would you care to join me?”

_He puts food out for wild animals_ , Abbie thought with a small smile. “Perhaps next time. I have something else I wish to do for now.”

"And what is that?" He asks, a smile alighting his face as well. She stood on her toes and cupped his face in her hands for a moment.

She laughed as she wobbled unsteadily and flattened her feet against the floor. "I will need a stool, because my husband is a giant,” Abbie said with a laugh.

"Surely, you understand I will fetch anything you need," Ichabod said.

"And surely,” she teased, “ you understand that that would be an irrational drain on your time. Besides, there are things that I like to do for myself… And that I would like to do for you," she added.

"You shall have the finest stool available," Ichabod vowed.

Abbie hid her smile by ducking back into the house. It seems her husband – _her husband!_ – seemed determined to see to her every need with an answer of unnecessary extravagance. Is that such a bad thing? Isn't it something that she had hoped her heart of hearts?

Was this too good to be true?

The answer would only come in time.

~*~

Ichabod observed his dutiful wife from the doorway of the small room that served as his office and library. Earlier he’d helped Abbie unpack and set up her sewing machine, admiring all the moving parts and obvious skill required to produce something one could wear daily. Now after they had made room for her, she was at her sewing machine, softly humming as she worked. He wondered if she was aware of the fact she talked to her work...

She had changed into a light shift which gave her an ethereal glow in the gentle light of the lamp and when he had left to throw out a few buckets of various odds and ends to the coyotes--remnants from where he and a few of the farm hands had prepared a couple of pigs for curing--she had been busily trimming away at fabric. 

She had barely acknowledged him, upon return, beyond a sweet smile when he brought her a plate of food and turned up the oil lamp to allow her to see better.

Said plate of food sat to the side, barely touched. He made a mental note to keep small, quick to grab and eat things handy when his wife was absorbed in her craft.

_His wife_.

He could hardly fathom that there was someone which he could call by such title. Much less a woman so lovely as Abigail. He had expected, perhaps a fuller figured woman with maybe a warm, round face because he knew Bram and how much of a cruel and stupid man he could be. Instead Abigail had been petite in every aspect and looked like perhaps an angel had gotten lost while making their way back to heaven.

Bram was insane, he determined. How could he have even fathomed turning Abigail away? How could he have not been drawn in by her beautiful dark eyes and alluring, impish smile?

Although… Bram didn’t yet know he had married Abigail in his stead. Ichabod was fairly certain come morning, Bram would finally have gotten word. News travelled fast in Salt River Falls due to having nothing better to do. 

Ichabod moved carefully across the threshold and waited for Abigail to stop cranking the arm of her sewing machine before lightly resting his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t even jump, instead she dropped her head back and smiled up at him. “Dinner was delicious,” she said softly. “I’ll have to cook for you tomorrow.”

Ichabod felt his heart flutter in his chest. “We can alternate days,” he suggested. “It’s nearly midnight, Abigail. I thought, perhaps, you would like to get some sleep sometime before morning.”

“Oh god,” she yelped, leaping to her feet. “I didn’t mean to keep you awake… I just… when I get to sewing my cares all melt away…”

She looked up at him then looked away again. He placed a gentle hand on her arm. “You need not apologize. I was merely concerned. If you wish to continue…”

Abbie shook her head lightly and smiled shyly. “No… I should… I want to come to bed.”

Her eyes fell to the half eaten meal and she worried her bottom lip. “Let me…” she said, reaching for it. 

Ichabod stayed her hand. “It can wait until morning. Come to bed and rest.” She nodded wordlessly and let him guide her to the bedroom. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Abigail whirled around and looked up at him. “I’m… I’m not ready, yet,” she said, a small panic in her voice. “I know you bought all that beautiful silk for me and… made dinner… and…”

Ichabod tilted her chin up and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Then you have no need to worry about anything happening.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “So… just like last night?”

“If that is how the lady is inclined,” Ichabod replied. They still hadn't pulled away from each other. Abigail's small hands fisted his shirt. He still had yet to properly kiss her again since they exchanged vows. He remembered the brief but soft press of her lips to his. It had been chaste but he longed for more.

The almost kiss from earlier pushed to the forefront of his mind. However, if she wanted no more than what they had already shared, then he would ask for no more. Not until she gave some indication…

She pushed onto her toes and pulled his face closer. For the briefest moments he felt the warmth of her breath on his tongue but as soon as he leaned closer to respond… she pulled back, hiding her face for a moment as she hurried to the far side of the bed.

Ichabod swallowed hard and ruffled his hair before journeying around the room to snuff the lamps. When he crawled into bed, his bride was as far away from him as she could get, her back turned to him. He shifted around until he was on his side and his back was toward her as well.

He could barely feel movement as she shifted around. Which this fact caused him to startle when her voice came near his ear. “Ichabod…”

“Yes, Abigail?”

“Do you think maybe you could hold me until I fall asleep?” she asked, her voice small and vulnerable.

“Certainly,” Ichabod whispered through the darkness and turned her way. She eased into his arms, tucking her head under his chin so that all he tasted was her soft womanly scent when he breathed. 

She curled her arms to her breasts as he cradled her against him. One of her silken legs glided against his thigh as she hooked it over him.

Suddenly Ichabod became acutely aware of how precarious of a state he was in, when she shifted her hips and he felt the heat of her core brush against the front of his underwear. A certain part of his anatomy sought to remind him of how long it had been since he had a woman in his bed. 

Well, to be fair he had never had a woman in his actual bed but it had been some time since there had been one in the same bed as he. And never one that he could call his wife. That last detail seemed to make that part of him even more insistent on reminding him of how overwhelming his Abigail was.

How warm Abigail’s near weightlessness felt pressed against him… how her breath on his chest sent tiny shivers coursing through his veins… 

Abigail reached for his hand and guided it to the swell of her posterior. She shifted her hips against him and his fingers curled into the warmth of her flesh as he bit back a groan.

He felt her shudder in his arms and sigh softly. “Good night, Ichabod,” she whispered and he nearly came undone.

He had never been so affected by someone he had just met. But from the moment he had first lain eyes upon Abigail, he found himself anticipating every small touch his wife placed upon him.

And now he felt completely overwhelmed with the sort of desire for this woman that was little more than a stranger. That too was not a usual happenstance. It normally took him ages of knowing someone and learning to trust them… with Abigail it already felt like he had already known her his entire life.

Perhaps it was fate that had led Bram to be an insufferable ass. Just so he could finally find her again.

Abigail hummed softly and soon he felt her breathing even out. Ichabod took a deep breath and did his best to sleep, or at the very least stay still so as not to disturb his Abigail.

He hoped the Lord would have mercy upon him for the thoughts that danced through his head as he dreamt.

~*~

Abbie awoke slowly and her lips curled into a smile. Sometime during the night her and Ichabod had shifted around in their sleep. The back of her shift was bundled at the small of her back and Ichabod was curled around her, his arm draped over her waist. Her husband held her pressed against his body and there was a certain something pressing insistently at the back of her thighs.

Her face flushed and she tried to wriggle from his solid hold. She froze when Ichabod made the most sinful noise she had ever heard and felt the low rumble jolt straight to between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together tightly, only to have _something_ thick, long, and hard trapped between them.

Abbie’s eyes widened. _That couldn't possibly be what she thought it was_. She shifted away enough to reach behind her body. Her fingers trailed downward over Ichabod’s stomach, occasionally her fingers tangle into the downy line of hair that disappeared into his underwear.

Her breath hitched as her hand drifted lower and she discovered that yes, it was exactly what she thought it was. She traced the turgid flesh under the thin layer of cotton. Suddenly, Ichabod’s arms tightened around her and he thrust his hips gently as he moaned her name as softly as a prayer.

His hand drifted down her side, over her hip, and to the soft skin exposed by her ridden gown. Abbie shivered again because it felt good being touched by a hand so warm and tender. 

“Abigail…?” Ichabod murmured, his voice heavy with desire.

“Ichabod,” Abbie breathed, pushing her hips back. 

Ichabod gripped her hip tightly and groaned into her hair. “Do you mean to torment me so, my love?” he asked, shivering.

My love?

She knew she should still be wary of this man but, Dammit all if she didn't want him. She wanted to see him interact with his workers some more, she wanted to see him angry, see him when he'd indulged in the drink, when he was faced with a situation that tried his patience… she wanted...

His lips grazed her jaw. Abbie cried out softly when he met the thrust of her hips with his own.

“Abbie…” he groaned.

She wanted him inside of her. _Now_.

“We could end both of our torments,” Abbie said hotly, tilting her head so he could nip and lick his way down her throat.

“I have never wanted a woman so quickly nor so intently as I do you, Abigail,” Ichabod rumbled.

Abbie brought the back of her hand to her mouth to muffle the soft scream that slipped out when Ichabod reached between their bodies and it was suddenly thick, hard flesh caught between her thighs, unencumbered by his underwear.

Ichabod reached up and delicately moved her hand away from her mouth. “It is only us two, my love, I want to hear you crying out…”

Abbie moaned and sighed as he thrust against her, rubbing against her core until the dampness she felt there made him glide between her thighs with ease. One of his hands strayed to her apex. His deft fingers rubbed gentle circles around her clit.

Normally Abbie was a woman of immense pride. She didn't like asking for anything or handouts. She certainly hadn't ever begged for anything. But at that moment all she wanted was to feel Ichabod inside of her…

“Ichabod,” she pleaded. “Please… please… I want you inside of me…” Her body suddenly jerked and she saw stars when he thrust two fingers deep inside of her. “Oh god,” she croaked as she felt an embarrassing amount of wetness. He pushed his fingers deeper and she bucked back against him, crying out, “Ichabod!” 

They both jumped as a door slammed. Ichabod swore and withdrew his fingers from Abbie. She whimpered in objection as Ichabod clamored off of the bed and yanked up his underwear a mere few seconds before the bedroom door was thrust open as a voice boomed out, “Ichabod! Where the hell have yo--”

Abbie squeaked, shoving her gown down to give herself at least a little modesty as the very man that had rejected her stopped and blinked in confusion at both her and Ichabod.

Abraham’s jaw clenched and he stared daggers at Ichabod. “So the rumours are true? You stole _my_ bride?”

Abbie felt anger well up inside of her.

“How is she your bride if you turned her away, Bram? I married an unattached woman,” Ichabod groused. “Plain and simple.”

Abbie climbed out of the bed and went to stand at Ichabod’s side, her chin tilted elegantly.

“I had gone to the Golden Nugget to fetch her this morning and Joseph said she had already left,” Bram retorted. “I asked around more and everyone said she had been in your company.”

“And why had you come to fetch me?” Abbie asked. “You had second thoughts of turning me away? Did you suddenly find me to be attractive enough to be on your arm…”

Bram sucked in a breath. Abbie wasn't sure if the contempt in his eyes was because she dared to confront him or because he thought she should stay silent. Instead of responding to her, he looked at Ichabod. “Brother, because of you, I had given second thought to my rash decision to turn Miss Mills away. But here I find that you, of all people, had taken claim to her.”

“Hold on,” Abbie objected, wrapping both of her hands around one of Ichabod’s. She tried to ignore the way her body reacted to the realization his finger were still damp from being inside her. “First of all… my parents risked life and limb to escape to the North during the war to assure that I was never a piece of some man's property!”

Bram gave her a pointed look. “I see my first impression may have been correct about you…” He humphed and looked at Ichabod. “A mouthy woman… Such _mouthiness_ is an unattractive trait in any woman. More so in her type, Ichabod. Then again you seem to have a fondness for women that don't know their place.”

Abbie suddenly found herself struck speechless. She was about to show him exactly how mouthy she could be when she felt Ichabod’s fingers jump in her grasp. When she looked up, she saw he stood ramrod straight, jaw set determinedly, eyes hard and cool.

Like a soldier that had spotted his opponent of the field.

“Either state your reason for being here, other than to whine over your own idiocy,” Ichabod said sternly. “Or show yourself out. I will not tolerate you speaking ill of my _wife_ , Bram.”

“I am your _brother_ , Ichabod,” Bram groused.

“Only by the blood of our mother,” Ichabod stated.

For a moment, Abbie saw hurt in Bram's eyes. The blond man shoved some letters against Ichabod’s chest. Ichabod brought his other hand up to keep them from falling when Bram turned on his heels and stormed out.

Silence spanned between them for a moment. Finally Ichabod brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I apologize for your having to witness that, my love. I know he is my brother but…” his voice trailed off and he sighed in defeat.

Abbie smiled gently. “If I'm going to cause problems between--”

Ichabod’s eyes flashed with panic. “No,” he said shaking his head. “My mother made it clear that if came between choosing Bram over others, to always go against Bram.” He sighed. “I've done my best to have faith that Bram was a good man, very deep down. But time and again, our mother's warning seems the most apt decision.”

Abbie stroked his arm. “Come on, let's get some breakfast and you can show me around the ranch.”

~*~

Rose River Ranch was nestled against the picturesque Rio Grande, the northern part was closer to Turtleback mountain and had easy access to the reservoir that was being installed while the southern edge ran to where train tracks crossed the cracked and dry earth. If asked he would never have reason to pause when it came to espousing the beauty of the land but each time Ichabod heard his wife gasp he looked up at her on his mount and found himself smiling at her enamoured expression as she surveyed her surroundings.

She looked right at home, having opted for a simple, cotton blouse and less voluminous skirts in a shade of cornflower reminiscent of her wedding dress for their venture outward and used a parasol to shield herself from the sun. “It’s so beautiful,” Abbie said softly.

“Positively breathtaking,” Ichabod said quietly, not looking away from her. When she looked down at him, she glanced away shyly almost immediately.

Abbie straightened as she hid her small smile, and squinted into the distance as movement caught her eye. Ichabod followed the direction of her gaze and saw two riders slowly making their way toward them. As they grew closer Ichabod recognized them and moved toward them.

“Well, well, well, what have we here,” one of the men--a handsome black man with an infectious smile--greeted. 

“Good morning, Calvin,” Ichabod responded with a bob of his head. He nodded toward the other man. “Luke. A pleasure as always.”

“And who is this pretty lady,” Luke asked, his eyes sweeping over Abigail, lingering on her bare arms.

Ichabod straightened and tilted his chin up as he pulled the mount closer so he could rest his hand upon Abigail's knee. “Abigail, may I present Misters Calvin Riggs and Luke Morales. They are my most trusted ranch hands and unfortunately missed the luncheon yesterday. If ever you have questions about the ranch and I am unavailable, they are the gentlemen to speak to. Gentlemen, this is my…” he looked up at Abigail instinctively and smiled “...my beautiful bride, Abigail.”

Both men's brows arched. Luke grinned and pumped his fist in victory. Calvin swore and reached into his pocket. 

“Easiest nickel I've ever made,” Luke laughed as Calvin slapped a coin into his hand.

Ichabod scoffed and shook his head. He gave Calvin a disapproving glance. “An entire nickel, Calvin? Really?”

“What can I say,” Calvin laughed. “I was rooting for you and Ash,” he replied.

“Is there some sort of… joke the entire town is in on?” Abigail asked.

“Not so much a joke as a wager,” Ichabod sighed. “When most of the ladies in town failed to attract my eye, they began… to take bets upon whether I was _sweet_ or not. And, until now, I have neither confirmed nor denied any inclination in either direction.”

Abbie laughed softly. “I can sense most of the town owes others pennies and nickels…”

“I heard old man Collins bet his wife an entire dollar,” Luke said with a smirk. “Bet his missus feels vindicated right now.”

“Abigail, Mister Riggs also acts as the town's photographer,” Ichabod said, quickly changing the subject from his sexuality. “And Mister Morales is known for his mastery of roasting some of the finest meats in the region.”

“Photographer?” Abbie asked with interest. “I've always wanted to have a photograph. It's seems such a complicated art…”

“Says the seamstress,” Ichabod retorted with amusement, smiling up at his wife. His heart stumbled yet again at the thought of Abigail being his wife.

“Just wait until you get a taste of Luke’s roasted beef ribs,” Calvin said giving the other man a nudge with his elbow. “Now that's a complicated art that he's telling nobody the secrets to.”

Ichabod laughed when Luke lowered his head shyly. “It's a family secret,” Luke said bashfully then shot Calvin a sly glance. “So maybe I'll tell you someday.”

Abbie gave a soft “Oh!” of surprise. “My apologies… are… are the two of you…”

Calvin nodded lightly. “We are madam,” he said kindly. “We were just out enjoying our morning patrol before it got too hot and we had to see to our parts of the ranch.”

Ichabod studied Abbie’s face as it went from surprised and curious to a beaming smile. “Well, congratulations,” she said softly.

“Thank you Miss,” Calvin said. 

“If you don't mind, though, Crane,” Luke added. “Cal and I are going to finish our stroll and get to work. Just be careful down near the watering hole, your coyotes are harassing the horses as they pass.”

“Probably thinking we got food,” Calvin chuckled. He tipped his hat graciously as did Luke. “It was a pleasure meeting you Miss Abigail.”

“Likewise,” Abbie replied.

When the two riders continued on, so did they. After a moment, Abbie spoke again. “Ichabod, if it's not too personal, why does almost everyone in town think you to be… sweet?”

Ichabod chuckled lightly. “Because, unlike most of the men in town, I don't make a point to take sport amongst the ladies at the brothels. Nor have I courted any of the so called _proper_ ladies in town. Although, remind me at a later time to tell you of my embarrassment at the hands of the Nugget’s former madam.” He looked up at his wife and felt his heart stammer. “What of you? There is no shortage of gentlemen in New York. Why would you come all the way here for a husband?”

Abbie wrinkled her nose. “Our definitions of a gentleman differ. There is sadly very few back East.” She looked away for a moment. “It was a risk coming here, but I was hopeful for the best.” She looked back down at him. “And… my sister had some debts that my coming here would settle. So I took the chance.”

“Do you miss home?” he asked softly.

“This is home now,” she said.

Ichabod nodded hesitantly. “I do want you to feel that way, but I am aware it can take time. So my question still stands.”

Abbie sighed heavily, looking out over the expanse of land. One could never encounter such a stark contrast to New York if one tried. “I do,” she admitted. “But it’s small things, like the knowledge of what’s stocked in the corner store a few blocks down, or that Mrs. Greenberg will be beating her rugs every Tuesday. Stupid things that I shouldn’t miss,” she murmured.

“Not _stupid_ things,” Ichabod said. “Such small habits and rituals create a home instead of merely a house. I hope that -” He looks away and clears his throat. “I should hope that you find things here… with me that will allow this to become not just a house, but a home as well.”

Abbie looked down at him, twirling the handle of her parasol slowly in her fingers. “That is a hope shared,” she said quietly. They remained silent, merely looking at one another until Katrina nickered and nudged Ichabod in the side.

“Apologies,” Ichabod said as the spell was broken, for surely it was a spell… “Katrina doesn’t like to linger long with nothing to do.”

“A horse after my own mind,” Abbie joked. “What else is there to see?”

“We’ve only travelled a short distance,” Ichabod said with amusement. “There is plenty.”

Abbie bounced in the saddle slightly. “I want to see it all,” she proclaimed.

“Rose River is two hundred and forty-two acres,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll get done today.”

“Two hundred and forty-two acres… is that a lot?” she asked.

“An acre is like…” Ichabod wracked his brain to find something familiar to Abigail for comparison. “Well, take a square yard of fabric.” He did the calculations in his head. “One acre is roughly equal to four thousand and forty-eight square yards.”

Abbie blinked. “That’s…” She whistled low and looked out over the land. “As far as I can see, and much more,” she said.

“Much more,” he agreed.

Abbie fell silent as Ichabod eased Katrina into an easy walk. She couldn’t imagine having so much money that you could buy land hand over fist. The amount of wealth Ichabod had was suddenly quite clear, even clearer than when she was staring at fifty yards of blue silk on his - _their_ \- kitchen table. 

“Oh boy,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Pardon?”

Abbie shook her head and mustered up a smile. “Nothing,” she said quickly, briefly reaching behind her neck to lift her hair up so her skin could breathe. “I didn’t realize how hot it would get.”

Ichabod nodded. “The heat is definitely something to get used to but after while it will seem pleasant. I’ll show you the larger part of the river that flows near the house and we’ll turn back so you don’t become overheated.” He looked down at her clothes, and though they were less formal than her previous attire, he could tell it was still thicker than advised for the heat of New Mexico.

Abbie followed his gaze and nodded. “I have plans to ensure I’m better dressed soon,” she reassured him.

“It isn’t that your garment isn’t fetching,” Ichabod said hastily. “The blue against your skin is a type of lovely I had not been privy to before; I enjoy the juxtaposition of the two colors. You make them seem as if they are made for each other. I simply fear the heat making you faint.”

Abbie tilted her head gently. It seemed almost like nothing but poetry left her husband's lips. Not much different than the…

_The letters_...

Her heart stammered frightfully as she finally connected the dots. Or possibly. _Had Ichabod been the one to write her all those beautiful letters_? That would certainly close the mystery of how someone like Bram could write something so beautiful and then turn her away as he did.

He _hadn't_ written them. The man that she had been falling in love with hadn't been Bram after all. It had been Ichabod. If only she could compare his writing to those on the letter… 

In the meantime, however, Abbie simply smiled. “I'd like to see more of our home, husband.” She couldn't help but grin when he puffed out his chest proudly.

“Certainly, wife,” he replied and led the horse onward in a comfortable silence.

“Ichabod?” Abbie asks, breaking the spell after a while. 

“Yes?”

“Were you serious when you said I could rent space in the general store for my sewing work?” Abbie asks. 

Ichabod looks up at her. “Absolutely. Have you changed your mind? Would you rather sew here at the ranch?”

Abbie shook her head. “It might be too much of a trip for customers to come out,” she said. “How much of my wages will I be allowed to keep?” she asks, keeping her voice carefully light.

Ichabod slows as he tries to follow. “I’m sorry, how much you’re allowed to keep? Who is taking your funds? Did you wish to open an account at the bank?”

“You don’t expect a portion?” Abbie asked. 

“Of course not! I’m not the one doing the sewing, why should I?”

Abbie glanced down at Ichabod, biting back a smile at his truly confused expression. “It’s… almost an unspoken rule that a married woman’s wages are not her own. Her husband decides what is to be done with the money and if she is lucky there is a portion returned to her,” she said.

Ichabod frowned, and shook his head. “Abigail, your skill as a seamstress has nothing to do with me, and I could not bring myself to tax you unfairly because you deigned to marry me. I will not be taking a cent of your money, I swear it.”

Abbie tightens her grip on the saddle pommel. “You, _my husband_ , will take some getting used to,” she admits quietly. “I’ve been told a proper lady does not need money.”

Ichabod’s eyebrow rose. “Then how do you purchase things you like?”

“I am to ask my husband.” She looked down at her hands as she twirled her parasol restlessly. “And if he decides my desire isn't frivolous and he makes the purchase, as a dutiful wife, I am supposed to do my duties to provide him children and show my gratitude.”

Ichabod rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. _Her duty as his wife? He was to decide of her desire wasn't frivolous? Wasn't she incapable of deciding that for herself? Did she have a gambling problem so that she wasn't to be trusted with large sums of money?_ “Is that… what you want?” he asked, looking up when Abbie does not respond right away. 

“I…” She shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “But I was always told that a real and proper lady -”

“Wife,” he said gently. “You are the most real and proper lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Don’t ever worry yourself in that regard,” he said firmly. 

“You are not disappointed?” she asked.

“Not in the slightest. You should do things that make you happy, as long as they don’t hurt yourself and someone else. What makes you happy may be different from what makes me happy and that’s okay, too. We will come together more often than not, I believe,” Ichabod said with a pert nod. 

Abbie smiled to herself, watching Ichabod’s profile. Her heart was doing something strange in her chest and she quite wondered if this was still real life. “You’re an interesting man, Ichabod Crane,” she says with more than a bit of fondness.

Ichabod puffs out his chest comically. “That’s what my wife tells me,” he said, and they both laughed.

~*~

Bram had waited until he saw the pair riding off together to go into the small, simple ranch house. It was a far cry from the large home he lived in on the south side of the ranch. But it had been his brother's choice to live in such a hovel.

It had been intended for a foreman and his family to reside, but Ichabod had taken on that mantel for the ranch. Despite their parents preferring Ichabod have the main house, he couldn't withstand sleeping in the same house their parents had died in. Bram himself sometimes saw his parents slumped over at the kitchen table, bloody tomahawks embedded in either of their heads.

Ichabod’s good _friend_ had been arrested for the crime until Ichabod had confirmed that he had been passed out drunk at his home with a couple of the other farm hands, celebrating a good harvest. And the local tribesmen had not lain claim to the murders because “the Van Brunt’s had never been anything but kind” to them and were fair traders.

The chief had even identified the weapons were neither Hopi, Navajo, nor Zuni in design.

_“Those unfairly murdered on All-Hallows Eve will haunt a home, Bram,” his mother had once said. “Their souls linger in order to remind everyone of what happened, until the truth is revealed.”_

Her tone had been so plaintive, as it had always been. Soft, with a hint of sadness. Bram’s heart ached every time he heard his mother's voice in his mind. He could scarce remember a time he had seen her smile. And the times he had, it never reached her eyes.

Ichabod, however, could recall mother having a bright and beautiful smile. He could recall her laughter. But after Bram had been born, all Ichabod could recall was mother being… sad.

Ichabod had been the one to do most of the caring for Bram. Father had shown him how to change the babe’s soiled linens and Ichabod had dutifully seen to the task if mother was having a crying spell.

Bram could still remember waking up in the middle of the night as a child to Ichabod’s voice asking mother what she was doing putting a pillow over his little brothers face. It was made all the more chilling that _he_ was Ichabod’s little brother.

_“Your little brother is evil, Ichabod,” mother had whispered, sitting on the edge of Ichabod’s bed. “And evil things deserve to die.”_

_“But he's little, mum,” Ichabod had smartly responded. “Little boys and girls can’t be evil. The priest said so.”_

_Mother had then smiled softly and kissed Ichabod on the forehead. “The family priest is an idiot, Ichabod. Go back to sleep, Darling.”_

_“Don't kill him, please mum,” Ichabod pleaded. “He hasn't done anything bad…”_

_“He was born, Ichabod. That's bad enough,” Mother whispered. “Never trust him Ichabod. If ever comes a time you must choose between Bram and saving yourself and those you love… choose yourself and those you love.”_

Mother had then left the room, silent as a ghost and made no further attempts on Bram’s person. Whether it was because Ichabod had asked her not to or she had pulled out of her sadness enough to realize her error, was a mystery.

Bram wished he could say it was only mother that had been such a way, but even father had started peering at his every move with suspicion. 

In the beginning it had been “ _Forgive her, Brammy, she's not in her right mind at the moment but the doctors are doing their best…_ But as Bram grew older, it became “ _What have you done, son?_ ” and “ _Your mother tried to warn me but we all just thought she was having a fit of hysterics_...”

Ichabod had only ever been the one to look at him as though he was not evil or _wrong_ in some way. Of course they had their disagreements and butted heads as any other brothers were wont to do, but his brother had been kind and stuck up for him. In return Bram had often tried to help his brother overcome his nervousness around girls and women.

It hadn't worked too well but Bram had tried. He had eventually come to the same conclusion as everyone else: Ichabod was _sweet_. He had certainly shown inclinations toward being a dandy.

So it came as a tremendous surprise that his brother had not only married the woman he had initially turned away, but had evidently consummated the union--if what Bram had heard upon entering the house was any indication.

Bram was torn between wanting to be angry with Ichabod for slighting him and being impressed that his brother had really managed to ask her to marry him, and go through with it.

He pulled a letter from his back pocket. It was a mirror image of one of the ones he had shoved into Ichabod’s hands not too long ago…

_In regards to the estate of the late Jonathan Van Brunt. By order of his last will and testament, the estate of Rose’s River Ranch is to be split equally between his heirs, Mr’s James Ichabod Crane and Abraham Van Brunt. Lest within two years one of his heirs are able to marry and sustain said union for at least a year, then the entire estate shall become the sole property of the first to do so._

It had come with there being only a mere four months before the two year anniversary of their parent's deaths, which was coincidentally his birthday. _All Hallows Eve_.

It's why Mother thought him to be evil. She once said she had tried to prevent his being born on such a wicked day, but he had done so anyway, with only a mere two hours left to wait. His own impatience had lead to his being evil.

Even so… Bram could not bring himself to be angry with Ichabod. Ichabod was unaware of the arrangement their parents had left behind. So even if he wanted to think Ichabod did this on purpose, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

All he had to do was find himself a bride as quickly as possible and find a way to make Ichabod’s bride disappear before they reached a year of marriage. 

It pained him to do so because she was actually very lovely for her type. He could see why Lucian Moloch was so fixated on her.

If only he wasn't so vastly in debt to Moloch... Bram could have easily just let his brother's wife be his own. He probably would have wifed her just for the chance to get some beautiful babies out of her. A man with beautiful daughters could easily accumulate wealth when men competed to earn their hands.

He let himself into his brother's humble home and meandered through the kitchen then made his way to the bedroom. The bedding was neatly made and a dainty little shift lay upon one of the pillows. 

Bram sat on the bed and picked up the article, holding it up for observation. It was barely bigger than a child's gown! He could only imagine how how soft and pliant his sister-in-law's petite body must feel.

Bringing the gown to his face, Bram inhaled something sweet but musky near the section he fathomed had been where she tucked it between her thighs for modesty at his intrusion that morning.

He felt a twinge of jealousy that his brother had stolen his bride. It suddenly occurred to him that he could perhaps have Abigail as his after all. He just had to meticulously plan it all and be there to pick her up once Ichabod cast her aside. Then he would deal with Lucian Moloch in another way.

~*~

Each time Abbie thought she had figured her husband out, he surprised her. Not just with the silk, the cooking, feeding wild creatures--the coyotes were not the only ones, he also fed prairie dogs, crows, and others. 

She had met most of his farm hands. They laughed and joked with him. They teased him relentlessly over having a bride. He blushed furiously. 

Abbie was in the middle of cooking up lunch--Ichabod said he prepared lunch for ‘the lads’ every day except Friday, which was when they descended upon Salt River Falls to get their pay and have a little fun--when she heard the door open.

“That smells absolutely divine,” her husband said.

 

Abbie turned and faced Ichabod, her heart leapt into her throat as she watched him remove his duster and holster. He hung them on the pegs on the wall next to the door. She craned her neck to peer out the window. “Are the others on the way?” she asked softly. 

Her husband turned, smiled and lowered his gaze to his feet. “Calvin and Luke decided to take over seeing to lunch for the next two weeks so that you and I may have privacy.”

“Why on earth would--” Abbie paused and felt her face warm when Ichabod cast her a glance that was full of heat. “Oh,” she squeaked. “That was… very considerate of them.”

She turned back to cooking, trying not to think about the fact the farm crew probably thought her and Ichabod were copulating. Her ears pricked at the sound of Ichabod washing up for lunch. She looked and immediately her brain screeched to a halt.

Ichabod had removed his shirt and was scrubbing away the dust and dirt with a bit of flannel. Abbie tried to speak but all that came out was a small strangled sound. Ichabod glanced her way, cocked a brow. 

Abbie tore her gaze away. “I've made entirely too much for just the two of us,” she said. 

“Bram’s crew is supposed to be coming over after lunch to help,” Ichabod stated. “I can take the excess back with me so they can have a meal in their bellies.”

Abbie whirled around, eyes wide. “Bram doesn't feed his men?” she asked flatly.

“He says he does but I know anytime he sends fellas this way, they are always hungry and are grateful for what I can provide them,” Ichabod replied. 

She sucked in a breath. “Then we will take this over to your brother’s end of the ranch and feed them a hearty lunch,” Abbie huffed. “Can't have them starving and going faint…”

One corner of Ichabod’s mouth curved into a smile. He bowed his head gently. “Whatever my wife wants.”

His wife wanted to take food to Bram’s men. And there was nothing to be said to stop her.

~*~

Ichabod couldn't keep a smile off his face as his tiny wife had some of the roughest men in town practically eating out of the palm of her hand. Of course, his presence could have been part of the reason the cowboys minded their manners. 

In a way, Bram had been right that having a woman on the ranch would change things for the better. It was good to see Abbie was willing to make sure Bram's men had a good meal despite the way Bram had treated her.

One of the men reached for the pot Abbie was serving succulent beef barley soup from, she cracked his knuckles with the spoon and gave him a stern look. “Present your bowl if you want more,” she stated and, much to Ichabod’s surprise, the man bowed his head and muttered an apology before offering his bowl.

“What the Hell is going on… Ichabod.”

Ichabod turned slightly as his brother approached. “My wife made entirely too much for lunch and decided to feed your crew as well.” Bram’s face flushed with embarrassment. “She saw the meager beans you provide them and now she wants to bring them food every day.”

“They're cheap labour from the camps,” Bram huffed. “Criminals and the sort, they don't need hearty meals. They'll start thinking they're human beings.”

“They may be criminals and the sort, but so are mine,” Ichabod said. “It's amazing what sort of people they are when you treat them like they _are_ human beings.”

Bram opened his mouth to rebut but clamped his mouth shut. Bram sighed heavily. “Ichabod. I believe I may have reacted irrationally to your marriage to Miss Mills.”

Ichabod cocked a brow. “Go on…”

“A few people in town have pointed out that, perhaps, Miss Mills is more suited to you anyway,” Bram stated. “And you were right. Perhaps I am more suited to making an honest woman of one of the girls from the brothel as I have… certain needs which a proper lady would not be able to see to. Miss Mills is a small and dainty thing…”

Ichabod looked at his brother. “Crane,” he corrected. “She is Mrs. Crane.” Her laughter drew his attention just as she gave one of the farm hands a playful swat on the arm. “But, you're right. She is small, but dainty she is not.”

Bram snorted gently. “We were all concerned when you were engaged to Mary, but your wife is even more diminutive than Mary,” he said. “Surely you crush the poor woman…” His eyes swept over Ichabod. “Amongst other things.”

Ichabod’s back straightened. “That is no business or concern of yours, Bram.”

Bram nudged Ichabod with his elbow. “Oh, come on, Ichabod. We're brothers. I've seen you naked. Was the poor girl terrified?”

Ichabod’s face warmed. “Bram… stop.”

Bram laughed heartily and smacked Ichabod on the back. “You have told her about Mary, haven't you?”

“There hasn't been much time for talking,” Ichabod said briskly. “But when we again have time, I shall tell her.” He strode to his wife with Bram’s bawdy laughter echoing behind him. 

Abbie dished out the last of the soup and smiled up at him. “These men were practically starving, Ichabod,” she stated. “If it's acceptable I would like to bring them food at least two or three times a week.”

Ichabod placed a hand on her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I would say that is something you would have to talk to Bram about but I know if he said no you would do it anyway,” he murmured close to her ear.

Abbie reached up and patted his cheek. “You're right.”

Ichabod easily picked up the heavy pot and after saying goodbyes to Bram’s crew, he carried it back to the wagon. When he walked around the side of the wagon, Abbie was defiantly trying to climb into the wagon without help - but her short legs made it impossible. 

It wasn't until he had deposited her in the seat and she gave him an impish smile, as she opened her parasol, that Ichabod realized it was going to be easy to fall in love with his wife.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Racist assholes doing things that are racist.  
> ~*~*~*~

“Jennifer Mills.”

Jenny turned as she heard a deep voice call her name. Her stomach flipped and flopped and she quickened her step. Only two people ever called her Jennifer: her sister and Lucian Moloch. 

The last thing she wanted or needed right now was one of Lucian Moloch's thugs catching up to her. What in the hell did he want, anyway? Jenny was in the clear and didn’t owe him any money. She didn’t have to listen to anything he had to say, and as long as she stayed away from his card tables she’d be fine.

“Jennifer Mills?!”

Her heart started beating faster and before she knew it, she was running. 

“Come back!” 

No, Jenny didn’t think she would. The voice called but she couldn’t hear what he was saying, Jenny was already around the corner and down the street. She only let herself breathe easy after she slipped into her favorite gambling lounge. 

It was easy to hide in the crowd. Pandora kept it dimly lit and always had a nice show being put on. It had the added bonus that Moloch's men were rarely brave enough to venture into the lounge.

Jenny slipped into a seat near the back and melted into the shadows, watching a couple of dandies do a terrible western pantomime as she kept an eye on the entrance . 

While the other gents laughed at the squealing boy in a curly blonde wig, Jenny felt tears sting her eyes. Stupid as it is, the wig was curled kinda like Abbie’s hair, if you squinted, and damn it if it didn’t make her think of her sister. Jenny reckoned her sister was a married woman by now. 

Either that or she was being strung up in a barn and being filleted. 

One couldn't be too sure with those crazy Westies; everyone knew there was no real civilization past the Missouri River. They had to be crazy to be out in the fucking desert. Jenny looked around and sighed - as lothe as she was to admit, the west was looking a little less crazy with Moloch's goons ghosting her every move.

Just what the Hell was he playing at anyway? Abbie was _gone and married_. That was the deal. Jenny’s debts forgiven and forgotten if her sister went West. What could he possibly want?

_Moloch never wanted anything good_.

He was probably trying to get her to take out another _small loan_. Something tiny to whet her appetite and before Jenny realized she’d be down almost four hundred dollars and beyond the help of an IOU. Moloch would want more than just money this time - he'd want their parents’ home as collateral. Jenny wished she could say she’d never go that far, but she ended up pawning the gold locket their father had given her to pay off a bad night at the tables. 

Two weeks later the locket was on Jenny’s bedroom table, just as it had never left and the bloom of shame that welled up in Jenny was like bile at the back of her throat. And still - _still_ \- Jenny couldn’t stay away from the cards. At least Abbie had planned for this. She knew Moloch might try something cagey so she had planned accordingly.

Moloch would _never_ get his hands on their property. 

Jenny was almost to the point of tears when a deep voice asked, “Mind if I take this seat?”

Couldn’t she just cry in the shadows in peace? Jenny looked up and schooled her expression into hard impassiveness. “Help yourself,” she said and the man slid into the seat on the other side of the table. He was a broad shouldered native man and something about his face made her pretty sure she had seen him around Sleepy Hollow before.

Jenny looked around cautiously. Pandora’s Box generally didn't discriminate on her patrons but that didn't mean the other patrons didn't like to single out certain types of people from time to time. Hell, they barely accepted _her_. She spotted a few fellas that tended to take the piss out on the natives.

“Hey, fella, just letting you know Old Jim over there might give you a hard time if he sees ya,” Jenny said quietly.

The man looked toward Old Jim and shrugged indifferently. “I have more important things to see to than worrying over an old white man.” He turned in his seat to face her. “My name's Ash.”

“Like the tree?” Jenny asked. Her eyes swept over the muscular man. Tall, sturdy, and strong. Definitely like a tree.

“Yeah, finally someone who gets it,” he replied with a bright grin. “Who might you be?”

He offered his hand so she reached across the table and gave him a firm handshake. “Jenny. Jenny Mills.”

“Mills, huh? You wouldn't by chance be related to Abigail Mills, would ya?” Ash asked.

Jenny felt her heart leap as she pulled her hand from his warily. “That depends. Why do want to know?” Was this one of Moloch's new guys? One that didn't know any better than to step foot into Pandora's Box?

Ash reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. He set it upon the table and slid it across to her. “Because, she wanted this to reach you before the mail order bride service found out Van Brunt turned her away.”

Jenny felt sick suddenly. Was that why Moloch's thugs were after her? She picked up the letter and tore into it. Tears streamed down her face as she read her sister's lovely scrawl.

_Abbie was alive. She hadn't been murdered. And she still managed to get married!_

She hugged the letter to her chest. "Thank you," Jenny said. "I didn't think I would hear from her in quite some time."

Ash shrugged. "The mail is getting better, but I'm faster. I'm here to see my sister and a new niece or nephew – so I brought the letter."

"Do you –” Jenny cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, have you seen her?" she asked.

"I did," he said.

Jenny waited for him to elaborate, and sighed in exasperation when Ash did not. "And?"

"And she's fine. She married Ichabod Crane, he’s my brother of the spirit. He doesn't know how to treat a person badly, and the last time I saw him staring at your sister, he looked like he was drunk with love." Ash laughed. "Certified love at first sight," he said.

She didn’t bother to temper her scornful scoff. "Do you believe in that?" Jenny asked. "Love at first sight?"

Ash shrugged. "Not sure, but Crane does. All that matters, I guess." He considered for a moment. "It looked like your sister was fond of him too."

Jenny wanted to groan. Hadn’t her sister learned enough already? The lesson was literally taken out of her hide. "Yeah, that's part of the problem." She signaled for the bartender and jerked her thumb toward Ash. "O'Connell, give him what he wants, on me."

The man behind the counter huffed. "You got money this time, Mills?"

Jenny gasped, feigning indignation. "When have I never?" 

“Yesterday? Last week?” O’Connell fired back with a smirk. 

Jenny held up a small coin purse. “I placed a good bet last week,” she returned smugly. She looked back to Ash. “What'll you have, handsome?”

“A single whiskey,” Ash responded. “Your sister’s husband sent me enough funds to bring you west - that is if that's what you want.”

Jenny stared at the pantomime for a moment, chuckled when the fella in the blonde wig feigned a faint into the hero's arms. It would be nice to see her sister again, before she got weighed down by popping out babies. “I'm sure Abbie and Ichabod could make good use of those funds…” Ash snorted and grinned. “What?”

“Money’s not a problem,” Ash said. “Ichabod is well off. And I'm not talking just Top Shelf whiskey once in a while rich… I'm talking he gave me more than a man's average years wages just in case you wanted to come west, rich.”

A wiry dandy brought Ash his whiskey, giving the man a flirtatious smile. Ash gave the dandy a wink and sipped at the whiskey. The dandy sashayed away, Ash watching the swing of his hips. Ash cleared his throat and leaned over the table to quietly whisper, “And he was concerned it wouldn’t be enough.”

Jenny cocked a brow. “My sister married herself a rich white man?” she asked incredulously. She groaned and shook her head. “I guess she didn’t learn anything from Lucian after all.”

Ash sucked in a breath. “Lucian? As in Lucian Moloch? What ties does she got to him?” 

“Yeah… She was engaged to him and then she found out what kind of man he really was and broke it off,” Jenny said quietly.

Ash put down his whiskey and swore under his breath. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way but… you need to get your bags up. We’re heading west tomorrow, whether you want to or not. For your own safety. I’ll have to send my sister a post of apology that I can’t visit this time. The sooner we’re out of here the better. And if you don’t want to come for your own sake, then come for your sister’s.”

“Just calm down, he's not an immediate problem… yet,” Jenny sighed. “And Abbie don’t need me out there messing things up. Like I always do.”

Ash reached across the table and tentatively placed one of his large hands over hers. When Jenny looked up, his eyes were empathetic. “I know I don’t know her that well, but even I could tell she missed you and is worried about you,” Ash said. 

“She doesn’t have to worry about me - she needs to worry about herself, “Jenny said. 

Ash nodded. “I’m sure you can handle yourself,” he said reasonably.

“Damn straight,” she agreed. 

“So how long before the call of the cards is too strong to ignore?” he asked.

Jenny shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “There are plenty of tables in Sleepy Hollow that don’t stink of Lucian Moloch,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, and how many still let you play? How long will that be enough for you?” Ash asked.

Jenny didn’t have an answer to that. “I told Abbie I wouldn’t,” she said.

“And how is that going?”

Jenny swallowed. “I take it you’re familiar with Lucian Moloch?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Not by choice, believe me,” Ash grumbled. He looked at his glass then picked it up and drank what remained in one gulp. “The man Abbie was going to marry, Abe Van Brunt… he’s an asshole and she dodged a bullet, if you ask me. Ichabod Crane is a much better man and he needed a good woman in his life.”

“I don’t wanna be in the way,” Jenny said again. “What kinda sister would I be if I went parading in with all my problems while she was still honeymoonin'.”

“That’s up to you, but I don’t think you would be in the way,” Ash said. “Not when there's just as many loose women as there are loose cards in Salt River Falls. Besides, no one said you had to _stay_.”

Jenny cocked a brow with interest, then nodded. “Can you give me a day?”

Ash nodded. “I can give you two. Since you seem to think Moloch isn't a threat just yet, I want to see my sister and my new niece or nephew. We meet back here in enough time to make the noon train out?”

Jenny nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be here.” She downed the rest of her drink and stood up. “O'Connell, give him whatever he wants, _within reason_ ,” she said to Ash pointedly as she pushed a couple of coin toward the bartender. “See ya, Ash,” she said as she put her hat back on, tugging it down low over her eyes.

If she were to be honest, she was actually kind of looking forward to spending some time with Ash. Maybe seeing what kind of loose women he was talking about. Not to mention the loose cards. She wondered if there was some loose men around Salt River Falls too. She wondered if he was one of them.

Ash watched the swing of Jenny’s hips as she left and whistled low. “That ought to be illegal,” he murmured to himself. He couldn't wait to be spending time in her company on the journey home.

O’Connell smiled and continued to clean his glasses.

“How about a taste of your finest,” Ash asked with a disarming smile.

“That depends, handsome,” O’Connell replied. “Can you make up the difference?”

“Sure thing,” Ash replied. He gave O'Connell a wink. “How do you want it?”

O’Connell’s brows raised and his smiled flirtatiously. “What are you offering?”

~*~

Abbie was growing rather accustomed to waking up in this predicament. However, the more she learned of her dear husband, the more hard pressed she was at resisting him. The more hard pressed she became to resist him, the harder it was to act like she was unaffected by situations such as waking up with his hand in her gown, cupping her breasts.

Both of them. With one damn hand.

It only solidified how massive her husband was compared to her. And since they had awoke in such a compromised state, more than once in the past two weeks, she knew his body and hands were not the only big things on his person.

Okay, so her hand had _somehow_ made it into his underwear in the night and they woke up with her gripping his erect member. It had been awkward for everyone involved. And to make matters worse she'd had a time getting herself to let it go as she mentally marveled at how thick it felt in her grasp.

If it hadn't been for Luke and Calvin frantically beating on the entry door because the horses were loose, she probably would have done something even more scandalous like… stroke him to completion or tested to see just how much of him she could take before it was too much.

But that had been almost four days past. Her current predicament was his big hand cupping her mound and Ichabod half spooned up to her back with his lips on the back of her neck. 

Her heart raced any time his fingers flexed or twitched. She just wished he would wake up so he could put her out of her misery or pull away. Anything to stop the unladylike throbbing between her thighs.

Suddenly Ichabod’s breath hitched and he hummed softly, nuzzling his face into her hair. He sighed softly and she barely heard him whisper, “Ah, yes… wife. Heavenly.”

“Ichabod?” Abbie squeaked quietly.

“Yes, Treasure?” he responded affectionately.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

Ichabod shift back enough that she could lay upon her back. He propped himself up with one elbow and peered down at her. His hand fully cupped her mound and his fingers delicately stroked her folds through her own underwear.

Abbie felt her heart start beating even faster. There had been a time or two in the past two weeks those devilish fingers had pleasured her briefly, before an interruption brought everything to a halt. If she were quite honest, while Ichabod had seen to whatever farm ordeal was unfolding, she had tried to mimic what he had been doing in order to finish what he had started.

In the end she had been even more frustrated than before.

“I am very much awake, Treasure,” he murmured, leaning in closer.

For a moment Abbie thought he was going to ask to kiss her, as he had asked numerous times already--and then been distracted before he could steal said kiss. His nose nuzzled hers. When her lips parted in a gasp, as he moved her panties aside and touched her heated flesh, his mouth descended upon hers.

Abbie felt herself melt as she moaned. This kiss was not a chaste pressing of his lips to hers to seal their marriage. This kiss was slow and exploratory, like he was sampling her taste and the only way to do that was to nip at her lips, suck upon them and her tongue. His fingers continued to delicately toy with her folds as he drank her in.

Abbie parted her thighs a little more and arched her hips. Ichabod made a soft noise and the tip of his finger pressed down and rubbed gentle circles around her button of pleasure. “Ichabod…” she breathed, when he moved his kiss to various places on her face. “I want you…”

He pulled back enough to stare down at her in reverence. “What a coincidence,” he murmured. “I want you too.”

His eyes widened when she arched and cried out, as he pushed a solitary finger inside of her. He caught her lips again as he began to gently pump his finger in and out of her, making her tremble. After a moment, he lifted his head to watch her face again. Abbie brought the back of her hand to cover her mouth, Ichabod promptly eased her hand away.

Abbie felt her face warm. What was his fixation with wanting to hear her wanton reactions? Perhaps Ichabod had fooled her perfectly well after all. Perhaps he was a salacious cad after all and enjoyed making ladies moan and squeal as he gave them pleasure after pleasure.

Which, she could find the heart to mind it one bit. As long as he was focusing all that attention on her and her alone. Oh she was such a greedy woman, indeed, when it came to her husband's attention!

“Ichabod,” she gasped, as she looked down to see he had started pleasuring her with _two_ fingers. “ _I am a lady_...” She threw her head back and bit back a groan as he pressed his fingers as deep as they could go, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her button. She could feel him wriggling his fingers inside of her!

Ichabod nipped at her bottom lip. “That you are, my love,” he muttered sinfully. “No one need know otherwise, I assure you.”

Abbie threaded her fingers into his hair and arched against him as he kissed her again and his fingers resumed their delightful torture. She felt her body jerk and she gasped into Ichabod’s mouth. “Ich… Ichab… ah… ahhh…”

She felt a strange sensation prickle her skin and it felt like her head was lighter than air. Abbie watched as Ichabod removed his hand from under her gown and the two fingers he'd had inside of her went into his mouth. She opened her mouth to admonish him but the sinful groan he released made her suddenly forget how to use words.

She let out a soft, weak, “Ichabod… please…”

Ichabod leaned down to kiss her immediately as he pushed his fingers back inside of her, pressing his aching crotch against her thigh in search of some relief. He thrust his hips, shuddering at the sensation as he continued to pump his fingers. He felt like he was going insane; the smell and taste of his wife, _his wife_ , smothering his senses and burning through his mind. He yanked the hem of Abbie’s night gown higher, breaking the kiss so he could watch the reveal of skin as she writhed against his hand. 

“Ichabod,” Abbie half screamed, grabbing onto the sheets for something to keep her anchored to the earth for surely she would spin out into the stars if he kept doing whatever he was doing with his thumb. “Ichab-”

The sound of breaking glass is impossibly loud as something comes crashing through the window, and Abbie screams as the curtains suddenly burst into flames. Suddenly she’s calling her husband’s name for an entirely different reason. 

Ichabod leapt from the bed as the sound of more windows breaking echoed from the room outside the bedroom door. They looked up as they heard something hitting the roof followed by boastful whoops coming from outside.

When Ichabod opened the bedroom door, he felt sick at his stomach. He turned back toward Abbie, who was frantically trying to straighten a dress to put on. Ichabod realized there was absolutely no time and hurried over to pull the dress from her hands.

“Dresses can be replaced, you cannot,” he croaked, then swept her into his arms with ease.

Abbie threw her arms around his neck, her heart racing as he hurried through the house. There wasn't a window that hadn't been violated by flame. She coughed and choked on the thick smoke as Ichabod dashed through the entry door. 

When he settled her feet to the ground, she looked around. They both seemed to notice three men at the same time on horseback, white hoods covering their heads. Ichabod’s massive hand cradled Abbie's head to his chest as he tried to hide the vision of the men from her eyes.

Shots rang out and a crew of half a dozen men gave chase to the three. One of the three was already falling back as they all disappeared into horizon.

Ichabod was struck numb as he watched his own men, some just in their bedclothes on bareback horses, chased the offenders. He looked back toward his house and knew there was no saving it. He kissed the top of his wife's head and softly murmured, “It'll be okay, my love” against her hair. 

Abbie choked back a sob, pulling away from Ichabod and hurling a half scream in the direction of the men being chased from their property. “It’s not okay,” she shouts, stooping to grab a rock and throwing it. “Cowards! Why can’t you take off your masks if you’re such men!” Abbie jumped when large, warm hands landed on her shoulders.

She whirled around, wide eyed as Ichabod abruptly pulled his hands away. Her face twisted as she fought tears and she flung herself into his arms again.

“Abbie,” Ichabod murmured sadly, holding her close when she slumped against him. “I promise, it will be okay.”

“You can’t promise that,” Abbie whimpered. “Who’s to say they won’t come back.” She looked at the burning house, merely able to watch as men formed a chain from the river to carry buckets of water in attempt to douse the flame. 

“They will find resistance if they do,” he promised. “I will not have them chase you from your home.”

Abbie sniffed. “You think I’m scared of them? I’m not,” she said. 

Ichabod pulled back just enough to take his wife's face in his hands. He thumbed away years streaking down her cheeks then kissed her forehead. “I wouldn't dare suggest such a thing.”

When he enveloped her in his arms again, Abbie shuddered and soon found herself sobbing on her husband's bare chest. He simply held her against him protectively, as though he could keep the offenders at bay with his arms alone.

Through the quick work of his farm hands, the fire was soon doused. However, in the slowly creeping dawn, he could see most of the second floor bedroom had been damaged. He had built that small addition with the help of Ash and his farm hands--reserving the small bedroom on the lower floor for his books and a place for Ash to sleep when he had a bit too much to drink while visiting.

With Abbie coming into his life he had debated that small room being reserved for their children. Was the damage too extensive? 

“Ichabod, Abigail!” 

They both looked up as Sheriff Corbin and Marshall Irving approached. “Are you alright, Honey?” Corbin asked, his voice wavering with emotion. He pulled her into a hug then looked her over. Abbie nodded mutely. He looked at Ichabod. “How about you, son? You all right?”

When Ichabod nodded, Corbin gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. His eyes went to the house and his face fell. “One of the fellas said Luke caught one of the men who did this… We're gonna see if we can figure out who the others were.”

“Corbin and I will go in and collect anything we can use as evidence,” Irving stated. He gently rubbed Abbie's arm. “We'll make sure whoever did this pays for it.”

Abbie blinked at Irving and Corbin. Why were they acting as concerned for her as they were Ichabod? She had only lived here for two weeks! Tears started pouring anew as she tried to wrap her head around the fact this town had done nothing but try to make her feel Salt River Falls was her home.

Ichabod pulled her into his arms again and softly whispered, “I will build you an entirely new home if I must, Abigail. Don't cry, Treasure.” 

“Did you see what the men looked like?” Corbin asked.

Abbie looked up as she felt Ichabod shake his head. “They wore white hoods,” Ichabod said quietly. “Hiding their faces like cowards.”

Irving’s expression hardened as Corbin gawked, “White hoods?” He glanced at Irving, shaking his head. “Not in our god blessed town they ain't! They ain't going to be here. I damn well refuse to let them be in our town.”

“Ichabod?!”

They turn to see Bram run up, bared to the waist with a bucket in one hand. “Thank god you’re okay, brother,” he said, clasping Ichabod on the shoulder. He glanced down at Abbie and poured a bit of heat into his gaze as he leered at her under the guise of checking her over. “Abbie, are you hurt?”

Abbie crossed her arms, suddenly aware of how undressed she currently was. “We’re fine,” she said tersely. “Thank you for your help,” she said, gesturing to the bucket in Bram’s hand. 

He shrugged and wiped his brow. “You’re family,” he said, his gaze lingering on Abbie. “Do we know who did this?” he asked Ichabod, Corbin and Irving.

“Cowards,” Ichabod repeated.

“Looks like our mayor needs to hold a town meeting,” Irving said gravely. “Just to _remind_ the citizens what happened last time.” He nodded toward the house. “Let's see if we can find some evidence and send it to the man in black.” He gave Abbie a small nod. “Y'all wait here, ma’am. Then you can run in and get what you need.”

After Corbin and Irving walked off, Abbie was tempted to ask why they acted like it was her home that had caught fire. But then she remembered, this _was_ her home now.

“Who is the man in black?” she asked instead.

“I have no idea,” Ichabod replied, shaking his head.

~*~

Lucian Moloch gazed out of his office window, at the little cream colored house on the corner just down the way. _The taxes have been paid up for five years_ , they had told him just last week. How the hell had she managed to do that?

Oh his Abigail was a crafty and conniving little thing. She probably hid away every penny she made to pull it off. There were probably doll dresses exchanged for fresh vegetables and meat. Haughty insinuations that the slightly more expensive cost was because she was so busy… and that they were welcome to go see Helena down the way if they wanted a cheaper cost. 

But his Abigail was the best. She was the most sought after seamstress in the area. 

Lucian liked the best of everything. So no doubt when he discovered her wit and tongue were just as sharp as the needles she sewed with… he wanted her. It didn't hurt that she was beautiful too. _And she owned the one bloody property his family had been wanting for almost two decades_.

But that was the thing about men with beautiful daughters. Beautiful daughters started looking for husbands. If he could just convince that beautiful daughter to marry him, it would finally be his. 

He had done his best to convince Abigail he wasn't the evil man everyone made him out to be. He had tried making her think she was mistaken when he slipped up and let that ugly side show.

If it hadn't been for that wretched sister of hers, Abigail never would have seen him doing the dirty side of business. He could still hear her surprised voice as he gave the order for his men to torture someone that owed him money. He hated that she had seen him as the bad guy. 

She had tried then to end their engagement. But he'd had an upper hand because _who would want a woman with a sullied reputation_. He wished he hadn't been forced to get so unkind with her at times. It was one of the few regrets he had in life. Especially when she somehow learned to fight back and left him as a bloody pulp in the very corner he now stood.

_Because I am a lady! And a true gentleman never raises his hand to a lady!_ Ohh if he had not been delirious from the beating he would have been aroused by the fire in her eyes as she spat in his face.

Using her sisters debts to him hadn't exactly gone as planned either. He had thought she would cave then. _Go off as a mail order bride and I will wipe your sisters debts clean._

She had tilted up her chin and nodded curtly as she stretched her hand across the desk to shake his hand. _Marrying a complete stranger is much preferable to marrying the likes of you_ , she said coolly.

Her chilling dismissal of his affections had, oddly enough, made him want her even more. Yet she had not yielded to his pleas. She was not the timid broken thing he thought he had turned her into. No, this was a woman who had looked into the face of evil and spat in it. Quite literally. She cared not one iota that he loved her. She was not his for the taking. Not anymore.

So he had searched through his records and found his man Van Brunt. Handsome. Wealthy. A bit stupid but willing to serve Lucian’s purposes. The last time Bram had been in New York, Lucian had sent for him.

_“I want you to put in an application, I will recoup the expense, of course, simply put myself as your reference,” Lucian told him._

_“I don't actually have to marry her do I?” Bram asked. “It would be unseemingly for a man such as myself to wed a --”_

The next word to leave Van Brunt’s mouth had infuriated Lucian to the point he struck the man across the face with the smooth stone orb on the hilt of his cane. 

_“You will not dare use that word to describe her ever again, do you understand me?” Lucian straightened his coat and smoothed it down. “Abigail is a lady. And you shall refer to and treat her as such.” He snapped his head toward Bram. “Is. That. Understood?” When Abraham nodded, Lucian added, “And you would do well to remove that word from you vocabulary by time we next meet. It's such a ugly and ungentlemanly word to use.”_

_“But do I have to marry her?”_

_“If you even think of it, I shall have your carcass spread across the desert,” Lucian snarled. “When she arrives, simply say you changed your mind. Be rude about it. She will be left vulnerable and afraid of what will happen when she returns… and I will be able to convince her that I am her only viable option for a husband.”_

_Bram rolled his eyes. “What do I do to convince her I actually want to wed her in the first place?”_

_Lucian waved a dismissive hand. “Write her poetry or something. Just make certain she is heading west to marry the love of her life.”_

He was beginning to worry because it had nearly been two weeks and none of his men had seen Abigail return to her home. She should have returned by now. Perhaps there was some hold up back west. It was quite an uncivilized place.

“Andrew!” Lucian barked. 

Out of nowhere his man Andrew seemed to slip from the darkness. As one of his top men, Andrew Brooks was expected to look like a proper gentleman. If it wasn't for that hideous bowler hat and those wretched cigars, he would be succeeding. “Yes, sir?” Andrew intoned.

“Have the servants prepare our bags. We're heading west on the next train,” Lucian stated. “And for you… fetch me Jennifer Mills. I feel she may provide some much needed leverage for the business I have in New Mexico.”

With a nod, Andrew set off to do his bidding.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man in black arrives to town. Abbie starts to set up shop. Ichabod is brutally and unexpectedly, viciously attack. And of course Bram is a Stupid McStupidhead.

The Man in Black was a local legend. 

Some insisted he wasn't real. Corbin and Irving confirmed he was, in fact, a real man. A gunslinger turned Federal Marshall that lived far outside of town and only came into town if there was a major crime that had taken place.

He would ride into town on his black horse, dressed in all black, wearing his black hat. The ladies at the Golden Nugget and Miss Ruby's both told stories of the handsome but firm faced man.

He never indulged in the ladies, any hard drinks, or food in town, leading some to think he was some kind of immortal that surpassed the need for such trivial things. Irving - who, in different circumstances Abbie would have been amused that he was both a Marshall, a deputy, _and_ mayor - was addressing the townspeople from the porch of the Town Hall when it happened:

The man in black came to town.

Abbie fanned herself despite being under her parasol, in the shade of the porch, at only 9am. She was even wearing only a light gown, like the other ladies wore. But it was still hot as blazes.

“Crimes such as those committed against the Cranes will not be tolerated in the Town of Salt River Falls,” Irving said, loud enough for every person to hear. “This town was founded as a safe haven for all types and we will not have anyone trying to change the intentions of our founders.”

Abbie smiled slightly as she recalled Mrs Collins talking about the founders. Two young women escaping from the east to start their lives as husband and wife, with forged papers and a dream. Depending on who you asked, the nationalities of the founders changed but Mrs Collins insisted the founders were a black woman and a Native American woman - that's what her mama said and mama never lied to her about nothin’.

“ _Mayor Irving! Mayor Irving!_ ” a small voice shouted. The crowd parted to permit a small boy to make his way through. “He's coming! The man in black is coming!”

Silence fell over the assembled citizens as a figure on horseback made his way down the dirt road through the middle of town. He loomed tall in his saddle, and everything from his hat, vest, duster, boots and horse were all black. Even his skin was a clear ebon, what Abbie could see from the skin of his wrists and around his eyes. 

He had a black kerchief covering the lower part of his face and held the reins of his horse with one gloved hand, the other resting easily on his gun belt, with one brightly shining silver pistol visible in its holster.

He looked like he stepped out of one of her pulp stories, ready to rain down the wrath of god upon the scourge of the earth.

Abbie fanned herself for reasons other than the heat from the sun. 

Silently the crowd watched as the man in black eased his horse two buildings past the Nugget and dismount smoothly, still almost as tall on the ground as he was in the saddle. He glanced over at the crowd and tipped his stetson once before entering the building, his duster swirling around his legs. 

“What is that building?” Abbie whispered to Ichabod as everyone erupted into hurried, excited murmurs.

“That is… the town library. Or what will be the town library once Madam Foster has everything arranged to her liking,” he said, looking slightly puzzled. 

“Why did he go there first? He didn’t even bother to get anything to drink for him or his horse,” Abbie asked. No sooner had the words left her mouth than a few eager young boys from the town rushed up to the huge black horse. Three of them strained to carry a bucket between them, the water sloshing everywhere with each uneven step they took. They managed to get most of the water to the horse, who nudged every child close to him gently before draining the pail dry. 

When the three ran off with the now empty bucket to refill it, the other children stepped up to feed him small apples and huge carrots while others petted his flanks without fear.

“Should they be doing that?” Abbie asked, eyes wide.

“The children never have anything to fear from the Man in Black,” Irving said as he sidled up. “Whomever attacked your home, however, should be praying to God that whatever he does is swift and painless.”

Abbie turned her gaze back to the black horse, wondering what kind of tactics the Man in Black used. As if the thought conjured him from thin air, the doors to the library opened and he stepped into the sunlight like living shadow. All the kids paused, wide-eyed as if locked into a standoff. Very slowly the man lifted his hands from his gun belt and pantomimed two guns and quickly went, “Bang, bang!” as he began pointing at each child.

Immediately they broke from their enthrallment, screaming and laughing as they pretended to die with extreme drama, dropping to the dirt with a giggling groan before slumping over and stilling. The last child left standing was a little girl too new to walking to run like everyone else. She stood, wobbling, shrieking and laughing and chewing excitedly on her fingers. When the Man in Black stepped close to her she reached out and grabbed his duster, screaming happily as she used it to walk close enough to grab his leg.

Abbie watched as someone else stepped out of what would become the town’s library; it had to be Madam Foster, though she had not been personally introduced to the woman yet. Foster was warmly fair complected, and coupled with her dark hair that spilled around her shoulders in bountiful waves, Abbie figured her of Mexican descent. 

Madam Foster said nothing to the Man in Black, but looked at him pointedly as she closed the doors behind her and walked around him into the bright sunshine. The Man in Black glanced down at his happily babbling companion and scooped her into his arms to silently follow behind her down to the street and around the corner.

“Where is he going with that child?” Abbie asked.

“She’s one of Leena’s, and Leena trusts him; besides, he’s probably going to take care of his thirst now, too,” Irving chuckled. “He’ll be by the Nugget later on today. Ichabod, did you still want me to ride out to Rose River with you?”

Ichabod looked down at Abbie with concern. “I don’t…”

“Now don’t you worry, Ichabod,” Mrs. Collins said as she stepped up to Abbie and threw her arm around her. “She and I can talk about getting her sewing area set up in my shop, if y’all are still interested.”

Abbie perked up, but before answering she looked over at Ichabod. “If that’s alright with my husband,” she said with a small smile.

“I do believe the decision lies with my lovely wife,” Ichabod countered, with a cheeky grin of his own.

“This sounds like it could go on all day,” Irving said good naturedly, pulling Ichabod away. “Mrs. Collins, we leave Abbie in your capable hands under your watchful eye. We’ll be back before dinner.” 

Abbie glanced away shyly at the heat in Ichabod’s gaze. “Until dinner, then,” she said, allowing herself to be tugged away.

“I shall think of you every minute,” Ichabod said earnestly.

Mrs. Collins tittered excitedly as she drew Abbie into the general store. “I knew you and Ichabod would be beautiful match,” she preened.

Abbie blushed lightly. “Thank you for your confidence, Mrs. Collins,” she said.

“Oh my dear, call me Corrina,” Mrs. Collins said. “Artemis and I had a dreadful situation like you and Ichabod when we lived in Texas briefly. You must be shaken to your very core, but I have just the thing.”

Abbie suddenly realized that she had heard of Mister Collins but had never met him or seen him. It never occurred to her that he was a black man. It seemed so odd that someone Mrs Collins’ age would even fathom the idea.

As they rounded the shelves to approach the counter, an older but distinguished black man was chatting with a patron with a tonic in his hand. “It's guaranteed to make you grow a full beard and moustache--betcha it'll be even finer than Mister Crane’s--within 30 days or you get your ten cent back,” he was telling the gangly young man. “But you have to follow the instructions to the letter.”

“Yes, sir, Mister Artemis, sir,” the lad said, nodding eagerly. The young man then scurried out, a wide grin on his lips, hugging the tonic to his chest.

Corrina tutted gently. “Arty, you should be ashamed, peddling that snake water and taking that child's hard earned dime.”

Artemis puffed out his chest and beamed. “I wouldn't have to if my wife hadn't swindled a whole dollar from me on a bet. Besides that boy got the ten cent from the same bet with some friends so it's hardly hard-earned.” His eyes went to Abbie and he looked taken aback. “Oowee… who is this lovely lady? She's prettier than a brand new copper penny.”

“Arty, this is Mrs. Abigail Crane,” Corrina introduced, putting extra emphasis on the _Mrs_. “Miss Abigail, this is my husband Artemis Collins.”

“Crane?” Artemis said, glaring playfully at his wife. “So you’re the young lady that cost me that dollar,” he joked.

“It seems it’s a fifty-fifty chance either people will be pleased or unhappy to meet me,” Abbie said.

“Pretty girl like you, I imagine anyone would be nothing but pleased,” Artemis grinned. “Now I don’t mind losing that dollar so much.”

“Abigail would like to rent out my old fitting rooms so Salt River Falls can have a fine and upstanding lady as a seamstress,” Corrina preened.

“I’m guessing you don’t approve of … I believe her name is Betsy?” Abbie asked, biting back a smile.

Corrina sniffed. “I take no issue with her profession - a woman has to make her own way sometimes and I won’t begrudge anyone any work, but her stitching is just _sloppy_ ,” she said, utterly scandalized. “Before I completely lost the ability to hold a needle I used to patch and make all of Artemis’ clothes. Now, we’re forced like the rest of the town, to pay for subpar work.” She beamed. “But that’s all in the past now,” she said as she led Abbie further into the store. “Why don’t I show you were you’ll be pitched and you can tell me if you like it.”

Abbie had made do with a small room with one window when she worked at home - her mother was a stickler for keeping all sewing notions and debris contained and away from the rest of the house. Very few people got to see Lori Mills actually sew - they came to place an order and returned two or three days later to find the completed project.

When Corrina opened the door Abbie had to blink. There were three large windows, one on each wall that gave her a very good view down either side of main street and faced the sheriff's office. There were small raised platforms in front of each window and four large gas lit sconces on the wall.

“Isn’t it something?” Corrina asked fondly. “Artemis made this for me special. I used to sew day and night sometimes, so as soon as the sun goes down you can turn on each light to make it as bright as day at midnight if you want. And during the day you can see the natural light just floods right in.” 

Abbie walked around Corrina in awe. “There’s enough room for four sewing machines,” she said seriously.

Corinna chuckled. “But I haven’t shown you the best part yet.” Her skirt swished quietly on the clapboard floor as she crossed the room and slid open a wide door to reveal shelves that ran from top to bottom. “These can hold a full bolt of cloth, and you can stack them to save room,” she said.

Abbie sighed happily. “When can I move in?”

“Whenever you want!” Both women turned to see Artemis at the door, awkwardly holding a mannequin. “I thought you might want to use these,” he told Abbie.

“Oh, excellent idea, Art - I didn’t even think about them!” She turned to Abbie. “I’ve got three more stored up just gathering dust. You can use them to showcase your finished stuff and I have a sewing mannequin that when you turn the gears it makes it grow bigger and smaller as you need it. Had it made special before we left Chicago,” Corrina said proudly.

Abbie shook her head. “Are you sure? I mean, I can Ichabod if we can afford to pay extra for the -” 

“Oh hush,” Artemis said kindly. “Don’t you dare. Like Cor said, we’re aching for an upstanding seamstress who can whip something up that doesn’t fall apart in a month’s time.” He glanced at her dress. “You made that?”

Abbie nodded. It was a simple affair, a light green linen dress with white, swirled stitching at her collar, hem, and wrists to match her parasol. “I make all my clothing,” she admitted.

“Then you’re going to be a mite busy, let me tell you. Maybe we shouldn’t sic the town on her just yet, Cor - ain’t she just got married?” he asked.

Corrina tittered and swatted at her husband’s bicep. “Don’t listen to him, Abbie,” she said as Abbie ducked her head in embarrassment. “He likes to tease. Art, why don’t you make yourself useful and grab the rest of the stuff, won’t you?” she said, shooing off her husband.

“Yes ma’am,” he called back smartly, pretending to run.

“Now, I’m not changing my mind about the price. One dollar is enough, and if you find the time maybe you can patch a few of Artemis’ shirts. The man wears out the elbows like nobody’s business.”

Abbie laughed. “Deal,” she said. “I would be honored. You’ll be my first customer!” She looked around the mostly empty space, imagining where she’d put all her notions and where she’d set up her machine. It was going to take a lot of work, and with that thought suddenly she was back at Rose River, watching the ranch hands carry water from the river and throwing it on the smoldering house.

There was so much work to do at home.

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to move in,” she said as she fought the tears back fiercely. Abbie knew things could’ve been worse. They could’ve lost everything. They could have lost their lives.

“There, there,” Corrina said, taking her hands tightly. “We take care of our own here,” she promised. 

Abbie took a deep breath and accepted the comfort Corrina was trying to give. “I guess I am a part of Salt River Falls,” she said with a laugh.

“You better believe it!” Corrina crowed. “Now dry your eyes and come look at the material catalogue to see if you wanna order anything. Can’t have that husband of yours seeing you all red in the face - he’ll think we mistreated you!”

Abbie laughed, and took one more look before she allowed Corrina to pull her from her morose thoughts and back into the store.

~*~

“He doesn’t talk much, does he?” Ichabod asked as removed his handkerchief from its pocket and rubbed his forehead and the back of his neck. 

Irving shook his head as he and Ichabod watched the Man in Black walk around what was left of the foreman’s house, staring intently at various tracks around the shell of the house. “Especially when he’s investigating.”

“I know you sang his praises earlier, but do you honestly think he can find the rogues responsible for this?” Ichabod asked. 

Damn. In the daylight, one could tell there was barely a shell left of the structure. There would be no saving the house. This was going to be a build new project. 

“Absolutely. He hasn’t failed yet, and he’s brought in gangs of men who bragged they’d kill him on sight. Many outlaws didn’t like the idea of a black man with a star, but the Man in Black don’t care what they think. He hunts until he finds them and brings them in - if they cooperate.”

“And if they don’t?” Ichabod asks.

Frank’s smile is tight. “My mama always said there was more than one way to skin a cat. While it's living or while it's dead. If they don't cooperate, he brings them in dead.”

“What is he doing?” 

Both men turn to find Bram striding toward them with a thundercloud expression. 

“He’s hunting for clues,” Ichabod said. “It’s truly fascinating.”

“Ichabod, those men are long gone. I hope you’re not paying for smoke and mirrors,” Bram said, a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“As I told your brother, the Man in Black never fails to get his man, one way or another,” Frank said.

Bram spared him a brief, unimpressed look before turning back to his brother. “You’re not planning to stay here tonight, are you?” he asked.

Ichabod looked at what possessions were salvaged, arranged in a neat heap away from the shell of a house that remained. “No,” he murmured. “If I were still a bachelor I would make do with the undamaged room downstairs but I will not subject Abigail to such conditions.”

“Why not?” Bram sneered. “I’m sure she’s used to something comparable.”

Frank glanced between the two men and put his hat back on. “I’m going to go see if he needs any help,” he said before he jogged off toward the Man in Black’s crouched form.

Ichabod swallowed and straightened to his full height. “Is there something you wished to discuss, brother, before I return with Mayor Irving to town?” he asked, turning away from his brother.

“Where will you stay?”

“Abigail and I will stay at the Golden Nugget whilst the house is in rebuilt.” Ichabod notices the shift in his brother’s expression. 

“That’s stupid, Ichabod. There’s plenty of room in the main house,” Bram said. “Why pay for a room when there are six to choose from that already belong to you?”

Despite the heat, Ichabod felt a chill worm its way down his spine. “Money is no issue,” he said needlessly. He didn’t have to remind Bram of their holdings. 

Bram sighed. “Look, I never understood why you moved out anyway-”

“You didn’t understand why?” Ichabod asked incredulously. 

Bram stared back evenly. “What’s done is done, brother. It’s in the past and nothing can erase what has happened. Not even burning the house down,” he said.

Ichabod looked away; after their parents died that was _exactly_ what he wanted to do. What he had planned to do - he hadn’t even remembered when or how he came to have a torch in his hand. If it weren’t for Bram he would have set fire to everything the night they buried their parents.

“I know you don’t understand, and you want to forget, but I don’t,” Bram said quietly. “I like seeing their things and thinking of how they were before they were taken from us. Can’t you understand that?”

Of course Ichabod could.

Most of his grief was wound up in a nebulous tangle that at times, strangely enough, extended to his brother. “I have been remiss by not trying to appreciate your point of view,” he admits.

“And then you exiled yourself to the foreman’s house and left me alone with ghosts.” Bram’s smile was tight as he stared into middle distance. “I really could have used my brother.” He looked to Ichabod. “Still could,” he added.

Ichabod cleared his throat. “I have failed to remember in all but name, that I still have family on this earth.”

“Is that an apology?” Bram asked teasingly.

Ichabod looked away and shook his head minutely, suppressing a smile of his own. “The closest you’ll get,” he said.

“So you’ll stay at the main house?” Bram asked.

In all honesty Ichabod had no interest in setting foot in that house again, but temporarily relocating there would solve quite a few problems - Ichabod would be able to oversee the rebuilding of the foreman’s house and he would not have to subject Abigail to the often rowdy environment of the Golden Nugget. 

“Yes,” Ichabod said. “We’ll stay.”

Bram beamed and something in Ichabod’s chest loosened just a bit.

~*~

Abbie willed herself not to fidget or do anything to belie the odd sense of dread coalescing in her gut. She had agreed with her husband that staying in the family home was good fiscal sense and its proximity kept Ichabod from having to make the trek from town every day from the Golden Nugget. 

It all made perfect sense.

Which is why Abbie found she couldn’t really object - not if she wasn’t prepared to tell her husband his brother made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. That probably wouldn’t go over well. She wasn’t completely sure because her husband’s face was currently an unreadable mask and he wouldn’t look anywhere except straight ahead.

Was it possible he was just as uncomfortable with staying at the main house as she?

“It’s a bit exciting to see the main house, isn’t it?” she ventured. He made a non-committal sound so she continued to try and get him to engage. Abbie twirled her parasol and looked up at him. “I’ve always wondered what a desert ranch manor would really look like. One can only read about so many in novels without wondering what would truly be realistic.”

Ichabod’s smile was fleeting. “My father had grand designs; he wanted something worthy of my mother and their family.”

Abbie frowned at the wording. “Do you not include yourself as family?” she asked hesitantly.

Ichabod pondered for a moment before extending his hand to her and leading her up the front steps. “My father died a couple years before my mother married my stepfather - Bram’s father. He was my father’s business partner and it was no secret he had been in love with my mother even before my father died. 

“It just seemed natural at the time. Then he decided we were to go west, and that’s why Bram has an accent that differs from mine. We were both sent to school in England and returned when we were of age.” Ichabod hesitated with his hand on the door knob.

“We could always make do with the undamaged room,” Abbie said hesitantly.

That snapped Ichabod from his reverie. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “No reason to run from ghosts, I say,” he said with more vigor than he felt, and pushed the door open.

Abbie folded her parasol and stepped inside, immediately appreciating the significantly lower temperature. The foyer was as grand as anything she’d seen back east, all done in walnut or some such wood. Attention had been paid to every detail, but Abbie could sense the person who had such dedication no longer lived here. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said truthfully, stepping toward the large staircase. 

“Bram and I would slide down the banisters when the servants weren’t looking,” Ichabod said fondly as he stepped up behind Abbie. “Father found us and gave us a sound whipping that day,” he, a comical wince upon his face.

Abbie laughed, and gazed up in surprise as her voice carried. “Goodness,” she murmured.

“Yes, mother had an enthusiasm for acoustics,” Ichabod said. “There were places in the house where she liked to stop and sing, and because of her clever designs her melodic voice could be heard almost ‘round the house.”

“That’s marvelous,” she said, and cheekily turned away. “ _Amazing Grace_ ,” Abbie sang, her voice soaring high and clear as a bell. “ _How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me_ ,” she continued. No wonder the late Mrs. Crane loved to sing in these spots. Abbie could imagine herself doing the same with distressing frequency. She turned to see Ichabod staring at her strangely, and the song faltered in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

Ichabod shook his head as if to clear it. “Whatever for,” he asked softly. “That is the most cheer this house has seen in… In quite some time,” he finished. Ichabod cleared his throat and came to take Abbie’s hands in his. “Thank you,” he said thickly. “For a moment I felt as if my mother were beside me.”

Abbie blinked back some tears as her husband kissed her knuckles quickly. Before she could say anything he was stepping away, returning his hat to his head. 

“I shall return with our luggage, then I will need to return to assess the rest of the damage and complete other business. I may be a few hours,” Ichabod said, not quite looking at her.

Abbie nodded around the lump in her throat, unable to say anything even as the door closed behind him.

~*~

Abbie was never one to sit around, wringing her hands. Not when there was work to do. She steeled her nerves and gave herself a tour of Rose River Manor. Six bedrooms, four washrooms, a parlor, a drawing room, servants quarters, a huge kitchen, breakfast nook and formal dining room. It was fairly obvious no expense had been spared.

It was also just as obvious that most of these rooms had not been touched in some time.

Everywhere she looked there was either a thick layer of dust or frightfully filmy white sheets covering gorgeous, custom made furniture. She had her work cut out for her, but knew that if she got the kitchen to rights everything else could fall into place.

Abbie hummed softly as she set to tidying the kitchen. She was still unsure of what to make of her husband's brother and his kindness - was it kindness? He had asked - no, insisted - that they stay at the main house while the foreman's home was repaired. She wanted to ask Ichabod why he had accepted, but for some reason it didn’t feel like her place.

Instead she poured her energy into making the kitchen useable. Parts had been used, such as food cellar--an indoor food cellar, imagine!--and the chopping block, but most had been undisturbed. By the time she had finished, Abbie had turned the room into a gleaming, functioning area. 

Satisfaction spurred her on, and she moved into the nook, where it appeared Bram took most of his meals. There were odds and ends and some nameless stains on almost every surface, but nothing a bit of elbow grease and a scrubber couldn’t remove. The focal point - the table once cluttered with junk and various homely tidbits - was now clear, freshly polished, and adorned with a pink cloth.

She took a deep breath and readjusted her apron, and moved into the dining room. 

It was here that Abbie hesitated. There was no way to avoid looking at the ghastly gouges in the wood, and though she didn’t know where they came from, they filled her with a sense of foreboding. Perhaps they could be sanded and filled in. For a fleeting moment she thought to ask Bram, but discarded that option immediately. 

No need to ask him for anything if it could be avoided.

Abbie reached out to touch one briefly, and moved away with a shudder. No, she would continue as she was and keep her fears to herself. This home was as much - if not more - Ichabod's home as it was Bram's. If she spoke of her fears her darling husband would use them to justify staying at a hotel.

Abbie turned and jumped in surprise as she saw Bram standing in the doorway of the dining room. Her hand flew to her chest as she tried to keep the impending feeling of dread at bay. She let out a tense laugh. “You scared me, brother,” she said softly. She also secretly hoped referring to him as her brother would keep him from doing anything improper.

Bram chuckled as he looked her over. “Ichabod was right,” he stated, pushing away from the door jamb. “Having a lady about would make the place better. You've nearly made this place as nice as it was before our parents died. If not nicer.”

Abbie took steps back and turned toward the table, removing the vase of dead vegetation so she had something to occupy her hands. “It's the least I can do since I haven't prepared my shop in town, yet. And Ichabod always speaks of fond memories in this house.”

“He would,” Bram scoffed. “He does always see the good in things that doesn't deserve it.”

Abbie's watched every move he made, forcing herself still and nonchalant. When he moved too close, she moved away to grab her dust cloth. “What do you mean?” she asked, turning to find he had taken a seat at the table. She hadn't even heard the chair move! It occurred to her that maybe the only reason she had heard his steps was because he _wanted_ her to. What sort of trickery was he up to.

“He hasn't told you?” Bram asked, voice pitching curiously. “The reason he doesn't live in this house? Why he doesn't take meals here in this dining room?”

Abbie shook her head. Bram approached her. He leaned close enough that Abbie had to take a step back. He stepped closer yet and leaned in. Abbie's hips hit a side table, jostling the decanters and glasses upon it. Her fingers grasp the lip of a tumbler and carefully turned it over so she was grasping the base. _All it would take was a swift knock of the tumbler against the table and Bram would be in a pool of his own blood on the floor._

“Our parents were murdered at that very table, in this room,” Bram said quietly. “We've no idea who did it. Or why.” His eyes drifted between hers and the table and he gave a low, wicked chuckle. “Both of them, several blows to the back of the head with a tomahawk. Couldn't even discern their faces because the killer didn't stop with one blow. It's where the gouges in the wood come from. Whoever it was, was incredibly strong.”

Abbie felt vomit in the back of her throat and swallowed hard as he stepped back. She shivered as Bram made his way back to the table and sat down. He smiled wickedly.

She steeled her resolve and sucked in a deep breath. “Or perhaps just incredibly angry or scared. There's some researchers in New York that are studying an idea that, if one is angry or scared they are capable of acts they could not do in normal situations. So the question is… was the killer angry? Or was he scared?”

“Our parents were some of the least intimidating people anyone knew.”

Both Abbie and Bram startled at the sound of Ichabod's voice. Words couldn't describe the sudden relief Abbie felt. She smiled brightly and hurried over to her husband's arms. Her eyes closed as she felt him kiss the top of her head.

Tucked into his arms, Abbie didn't have to look at Bram or think about the little smirk he'd had while telling her about his parents demise. 

“For you, perhaps, brother,” Bram chuckled. “But everyone has enemies. Some more than others.” He scoffed gently. “You should mind your wife’s reading materials. Sciences and such are not suitable subjects for ladies. Especially on matters that involve bloodshed.”

“Mother always said a woman knows more of bloodshed by time she reaches marrying age than any man could know in a lifetime,” Ichabod commented. “And who am I to deny my wife being knowledgeable of the world as she sees fit?”

Abbie nuzzled against Ichabod's chest and sighed contentedly. After a moment she looked up at him. “I thought you wouldn't be finished with your business until this evening.”

She quickly realized Ichabod was staring at the table blankly. After a moment he shook his head to clear it then smiled down at her. “Can't a man take a short reprieve to visit his bride during lunch?”

Abbie glanced toward Bram, who was now scowling. “I made stew for your men; it should be done by now. You're more than welcome to take it to them.”

Bram's scowl deepened and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Yes, Bram, you should take it to your men,” Ichabod stated firmly. “Since you have no pressing matters and I have come to visit my wife.”

Bram huffed and stood. “Very well. But only because I know newlyweds need their time alone.”

Abbie held her breath until the rear door to the kitchen clapped closed behind Bram. When she looked back up at Ichabod, she saw he was once again staring at the table. Patting his chest, Abbie urged Ichabod away and out of the dining room.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly as she put the dirty vase on the ground next to the pile of cloth that needed cleaning.

He shook his head. “There isn't much to speak of,” Ichabod replied. He looked down at Abbie's upturned face and his heart instantly felt lighter. She guided him down the hallway and up the rear staircase. The second floor was just as quiet, dark, and cool as downstairs Ichabod noted before Abbie tugged him into a room. It had been aired out and he saw some of their things on the now gleaming dresser. “You chose this room?” he asked, inordinately pleased. 

“Is it not okay?” she asked.

Ichabod smiled widely. “It is the same room I stayed in when we would visit while on holiday from school.” 

Abbie nodded and darted away to produce a box. “Then this explains what I found in here.” She opened the box to reveal small trinkets of his childhood, including a photo they had made when they first arrived in Salt River Falls.

“Yes, the playthings of a child,” he said, taking it from her and closing it pointedly. “These no longer interest me.”

“Oh?” Abbie closed the door behind them quietly. Suddenly the air in the room became charged. Abbie released his hand and stepped forward. With her back still to him, she began to remove the layers of her dress until she wore only her shift. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a shy smile before moving toward the bed. “Perhaps we can find toys of a more suitable nature to pique your… interest.”

Ichabod stared as she climbed onto the bed and stretched herself out. She patted the mattress. He swallowed hard as his mouth suddenly became parched and moved toward the bed. He kicked off his boots as he unfastened his belt.

It suddenly didn't matter too much that they were in the home he loathed. He stripped off his trousers, vest, and shirt, leaving himself in his under clothes. Ichabod didn't dare remove more because Abbie was in her own under clothing. If she wanted to do nothing more than hold each other, that would be all that happened.

However, she reached for him as he climbed into the bed. She pulled him over her, her thighs parting to welcome his hips between them. Ichabod's hands glided up her thighs to move the end of her shift out of the way.

The moment their lips touched, it felt like years of heartache melted from Abbie's soul. There were some nights she would be having nightmares and out of nowhere Ichabod would arrive to pull her away from whatever evil was lurking in her dream. She would awake to find herself in his arms, safe, warm, and usually pleasantly aroused.

One of her favorite dreams thus far had been one which took place in a whimsical future and Lucian was some twisted demon which had been shadowing her life since her childhood. Ichabod always arrived and her dream-self saw him as her one true ally against Lucian.

Abbie didn’t know if she would feel comfortable showing affection with Bram lurking about the house - even behind closed doors. But since he was taking food to his men, well, she was more than willing to continue what she and her husband had been doing prior to the fire. She thrust her hips against his and moaned softly. 

Her hand fell atop one of his and guided it further up under her shift. “Touch me, husband,” she whispered softly.

Oh how could he deny such a beautiful plea? He was but a mere mortal and she was… far beyond that. Ichabod oft found himself comparing her to heavenly beings and deities of yore.

He met her thrust with one of his own and felt her writhe in his arms. His hand moved further up until he cupped one of her breasts in his palm. Abbie moaned again as his thumb stroked circles around the pebbled peak.

“Oh Abbie,” Ichabod groaned and she felt a gentle clench between her legs. His mouth ventured down her neck, greedily nipping and sucking at her flesh as he pulled the hand from her gown to tug at the dainty bow between her breasts.

Abbie felt giddy and laughed softly when Ichabod's beard tickled a spot under her chin. The bodice of her shift fell open and Ichabod's lips chased it. He had just nuzzled his nose between her breasts when…

_Knock, knock, knock…_

They both jumped and looked toward the windows and door. Who in the blazes could that possibly be? Bram had left to take food to his men!

_Knock, knock, knock…_

“Mrs. Crane,” a deep voice called softly. “I'm Federal Marshall Daniel Reynolds. I need to speak with you.”

Abbie blinked. “Who?” she asked curiously.

“The man in black,” her husband provided. 

Her bottom lip poked out as she realized her and her husband were not going to be having any sort of privacy this day either. “Could you answer the door while I…” Abbie waved her hand at her discarded dress. 

Ichabod chuckled softly and nodded. “Certainly my love.”

Abbie giggled when he stood and she realized what sort of state the interloper was leaving her husband in. But, nonetheless, he pulled on his trousers and shirt to go answer the door. It took her a few moments but Abbie was soon back in her dress and slipped from the room.

She could hear her husband and the Marshall’s voices floating up the stairway as she made her way down.

“I'm trying to see if this instance is tied to another case back East. The only person who can answer that is, hopefully, your wife Mr Crane,” Abbie heard the man in black say. “Has she mentioned a man by the name of Lucian Moloch?”

“Not that I am aware of? I've heard his name whilst I was in university back east, but why on Earth would she know of him? Why would he be relevant to something this far away from society?” Ichabod replied.

Abbie tilted her chin up stubbornly and stepped off of the stairs and into the foyer. “He was my fiance,” she stated. 

Marshall Reynolds’ eyes widened with surprise as he respectfully removed his hat. “You're not at all what I was expecting, ma'am, forgive me,” he said gently. “You don't look like the typical woman that catches the eye of Lucian Moloch or wealthy landowners.”

“I get that alot,” she replied, pressing her lips into a tight line.

“I can see why the white sheets would attack you two now,” Reynolds stated. “But I don't think that's who is responsible… for once. Not in this town at least. They know better after the last time. I think maybe Lucian may have part in this.”

Abbie shook her head. “He knew I was coming west to get married,” she said. “That was part of the deal. He has holdings in a mail order bride company. He said if I came west to marry. He would leave my sister alone about her debts.”

She felt her face warm when Ichabod looked at her. “You were engaged?”

Looking down at her hands, Abbie nodded. “He… When I found out what kind of man he really was, I broke off the engagement.”

“And he let you do that?” Reynolds asked. “Without an argument?”

At this, Abbie smiled slowly. “I was sole owner of a property he had his eyes on. If he did anything to me, he knew he would never get his hands on it.” The marshall’s brow arched curiously and she knew why. “I know. A black woman owning property. An unmarried one at that. I inherited it from my father. He was lucky enough to win the property in a poker game.

“As you well know, in the absence of a male heir, property can be left to a daughter. There's no laws against it. But it does mean I make a very valuable wife because as soon as I am married the property becomes my husband's. It took everything I had to make sure the taxes were paid so Lucian couldn't get his hands on it.”

Abbie watched a little smile appear on her husband's face. It was a smile of pride. He was proud because, through spite alone, she had been determined to keep her father's holdings away from Lucian. “He knows if anything untoward happens to me, the property transfers to a woman he would never dare to cross, regardless of my husband’s wishes.

“So, Marshall, what would Lucian have to gain by attacking me when he is the reason I am here and he has nothing to gain by my being hurt or killed?” Abbie asked.

Ichabod moved to her side and slid his arm around her waist. He smiled down at her, loving her all the more. While he didn't know much about Lucian Moloch, Ichabod knew he was the kind of man one didn't want to cross. Yet his wife had not only been engaged to the man, she proverbially had him defiantly grasped by the family gems, refusing to submit to his demands.

Now Ichabod was more than grateful Bram had turned her away. His brother would have combusted and perished within a fortnight with such a strong willed woman on his hands.

“Now it would seem I have much to discuss with my husband since you've made me let a couple cats out of the bag,” Abbie said primly. “I will stand by my statement, regardless of the fact he is a vile and despicable person, that Lucian would do me no harm.”

Reynolds eyed Ichabod for a moment. “She was sent here to marry you?” he asked.

Ichabod ducked his head bashfully. “No,” he said quietly. “She was intended for my brother, but he turned her away on sight. Having been charmed by her through correspondence he had me write for him, I had decided if he wasn't going to wed this wondrous woman, I would.”

It was Abbie's turn to blush, her hand covering her face as she concealed it against her husband's side.

“Interesting,” Reynolds hummed. He returned his hat to his head. “I think that's enough information for now, until I can get confirmation on some other things. I'm not discounting the theory that Moloch is somehow involved in this so I may be back around with more questions, Mrs. Crane.” He nodded toward Ichabod. “Mr. Crane.”

“Marshall Reynolds,” Ichabod intoned with a nod off his own.

Abbie breezed forward to open the door and show the federal marshall out. Ichabod watched his wife's shoulders slump as soon as the man's footsteps moved across the porch and down the steps. It suddenly occurred to him that the steel and sharp wit his wife had been displaying had all been an act.

“You do not have to explain if it is not something you do not--”

“I don't want to,” she said weakly, her shoulders trembling. “I can't… not yet.” He dashed forward to take Abbie into his arms as she broke down into tears. She turned into his embrace and fisted his shirt as she wept. “I just wish I never had to hear that name ever again,” Abbie said between hiccoughs. “Or to even think of him.”

“If it were within my power, you would need not have to,” Ichabod whispered, rubbing Abbie's back soothingly.

Abbie sniffled lightly and smoothed out the spot in his shirt she had been clenching. “Look at me, such unseemingly behavior for a lady,” she softly scolded herself.

Ichabod tilted her chin up and lightly pressed his lips to hers. “There is nothing you could do to convince me you are anything less than a lady, my love.”

“You and I must have vastly different definitions of what a lady is,” Abbie said softly.

“My mother always said, 'A _real_ lady makes everyone think she's timid and docile. But in reality, if given reason and the chance, she will shiv someone without blinking an eye’,” Ichabod stated.

A sweet laugh erupted from his wife's lips and she hid her face against his chest. After a moment, she looked up at him, her face beautifully darkened with a flush. “I think I would have liked your mother.”

“And she, you,” Ichabod grinned.

He was about to speak further but a racket from outside drew their attentions. They shared a glance then made their way to a window. Ichabod chuckled and shook his head. “I did not think they would be here so quickly.”

“Who?” Abbie asked.

“I asked of Luke, Calvin, and some of the other lads to bring the belongings which could be salvaged to Rose Manor,” Ichabod stated. He looked down at her. “All of your belongings were unharmed.”

Abbie gasped softly and dashed to the door to open it. Luke and Calvin were already off loading her trunk and bags. “You gentlemen are heaven sent,” Abbie proclaimed, stepping onto the porch. 

Luke cast a glance behind Abbie, at Ichabod, then grinned at her husband's disheveled stated. “Are we, really?”

“You're here much sooner than anticipated,” Ichabod commented dryly.

“We also brought some visitors we thought would cheer the missus up,” Calvin chimed, hoisting a crate from the back of the cart. Once on the ground, he tipped the crate over and a herd of fat, wriggling pups cascaded from the crate, yapping happily.

Abbie's hands clasped over her heart and she scampered down the steps of the porch. “They are _adorable_!”

There was six of them, all eagerly bouncing and roughhousing with each other until Abbie delicately knelt down. At that point they all clamoured to get into her lap and have a chance to greet this new person who cooed and squealed excitedly at them.

Ichabod wasn't prepared for this sort of attack upon his person. He had seen the new pups while at the house. They were a mix with one of Luke and Calvin's Australian shepherds and a coyote. It made for absolutely adorable balls of fluff. But seeing his wife so excited by their presence and letting them greet her enthusiastically was almost more than he could handle.

“What breed are they?” Abbie asked breathlessly. “I've never seen anything like them.”

“They're Sooners, ma'am,” Calvin drawled. At Abbie's blank look, he added, “The _sooner_ they have new homes the better.”

Abbie, her arms clutching three of the pups to her bosom, turned her sparkling eyes to him. She sucked in a deep breath the speak but then ducked her head shyly and placed the pups back on the ground. 

Ichabod looked at his men and scoffed indignantly. “They've already got a home. Here on Rose River Ranch,” he stated. He looked at Abbie and smiled indulgently. “Is there one you would like to keep at the house, my love? The others we can train as herders.”

Abbie squeaked softly as she looked down toward the ground. One of the pups had latched on to her skirt and was tugging and growling playfully. His wife's hands went to cover her lips for a moment before she cooed softly and swept it up into the air.

The pup yipped as it licked at her face, it's paws flailing as though it was trying to run on air as it wriggled and wagged it's body. Whereas all the other pups had erect tuffs for ears, this pup had one that flopped over.

Abbie cooed sweetly. “Look at you… ohh those _eyes_. That _ear_. It's like a calla lily or a jack in the pulpit… Are you a boy or a girl…” Abbie ducked enough to check. “A sweet little girl!” Abbie hugged the pup to her chest and it immediately lapped at her face and nipped at her chin. “Can we keep this one. Can we name her Calla?”

Ichabod could feel himself smiling, a feat impossible to resist when his wife's face was once again aglow with joy. “If that is the one you want, my love, then she is yours and she can be named whatever your heart desires.”

“They're not quite ready to leave their mam just yet,” Luke commented. “They were trailing the cart so we couldn't resist. But maybe by time the house is settled and repaired they'll be good to go.”

Abbie rubbed Calla behind her pointed ear and smiled softly. “I should think it would be nice to have such a pup at my side. She might even act as a guardian for any children Ichabod and I have in the near or distant future.” She fluttered her lashes demurely then placed a kiss atop the pups head as Luke and Calvin both gave whoops.

“That's our Ichabod, never wasting any time to do anything properly,” Calvin cackled.

Ichabod felt his face flush. “She's not… what I mean to say is… I don't believe…”

“And a lady never tells,” Abbie said sweetly, standing. She handed the pup to Luke. “Ichabod and I will keep this one. You never said what they were.”

Luke glanced between Calvin and Ichabod. “They're Aussie and coyote mix, ma'am. One of the coyotes Ichabod feeds sired them.” He rubbed Calla's chin and grinned. “Couldn't ask for better breed to watch over the family. She'll be fiercely loyal and protective of you Miss Abbie. Won't take kindly to anyone that may mean you harm.”

Abbie caught Ichabod's eyes and he puffed his chest and stood a little straighter. “Sounds like someone else I know,” she said softly. “Now let's get these bags and trunks inside so I can sort out what needs to go to my shop!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie attempts to do laundry with disastrous results. Ichabod is ready to fight the next person that interrupts his and Abbie's attempts at being amorous. Bram continues to be a creeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Bram slaughters a chicken the old fashioned way. It's a little horrific, but that's how was done. SF2 has actually seen this done in person (hence how they know the details from an observers point) and it's just as nauseating as it sounds.

Ichabod stared at his brother, who was staring at his wife. Abbie was oblivious, hanging bed sheets on the lines. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his belly as he watched his brother.

Suddenly Bram sighed, shook his head and turned away. Bram blinked at Ichabod then approached him slowly. “How long have you been there brother?” Bram asked. “I can never figure out how that savage taught someone as gangly as you to be so bloody quiet.”

Ichabod narrowed his eyes. “I would rather you refer to Ash, and any others, by name rather than such a crude and untrue label. He's a good man and you only show yourself as an uneducated and horrible person by treating your fellow man as your inferior.”

“You sound like Mother,” Bram scoffed and nudged Ichabod's arm. He grinned wickedly and laughed but Ichabod's expression remained stern. Bram’s amusement faded after a moment and he cleared his throat as he glanced back toward Abbie. “I know you're fond of your bride, brother, but I think you should perhaps keep a close watch on her.” He looked at Ichabod. “She seems mighty sweet on some of our men.”

Ichabod's back went rod straight and his chest puffed out. “Are you suggesting _my wife_ would be fickle? I am insulted, Abraham.” The hair of the back of his neck seemed to stand on end. “Abigail extends kindness to everyone, your men included. Perhaps, the issue is that you're not accustomed to seeing what it looks like when one has a kind and generous heart.”

Bram pressed his lips into a tight line. “I merely wished to show concern, brother. I know the ways of so-called ladies from the East. And if she was engaged to Lucian Moloch, she's probably anything _but_ kind and generous.”

Ichabod's jaw clenched as he watched Bram walk away, back toward the barn where his men were working. He then turned his attention toward Abbie as she made her way toward the river, empty basket in hand. Any other thoughts or information his mind had been putting together scattered as he watched his wife slip through the reeds.

Curiously, Ichabod glanced around then made his way to follow. Where in the heavens could she possibly be going? When he reached the reeds, he stopped as he spotted her through the Abbie-sized gap that she had trodden. His eyes widened as she slowly stripped herself of her apron and the simple gown she was wearing, until she was left in her thin white shift. The piece of clothing already looked somewhat damp, barely reaching her knees.

Abbie hummed softly as she removed her shoes and, empty basket in hand, bound to a second basket still full of clothes. She bound the two baskets together with a bit of ribbon and hooked the rope handle of the empty one around a branch jutting from the water.

She waded out a little and dunked herself under the water. When she emerged, she rubbed her face, gathered her hair, and wrestled it into a bun atop her head. Ichabod's eyes roamed down her body as she returned to her baskets and began to wash the clothes, depositing the clean article into the other basket when done. She hummed softly as she cleaned, occasionally walking out to douse herself when she grew too warm from the New Mexico sun.

The shift clung to her like a second skin, having gone nearly transparent, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Ichabod could feel his heart go topsy turvy and his breath became struggled. Good Lord, she was beautiful. Like a little nymph from folklore waiting to lure any wandering passerby to their death. 

He stood, looked around to make sure no one could see, then slipped through the reeds the next time she doused herself. He already had his shirt most of the way off by time her wide, dark eyes landed on him. Abbie’s arms folded over her chest as she struggled for words.

“What are you doing,” she finally hissed.

Ichabod paused before completely removing his shirt. It occurred to him that perhaps he should have asked his wife if she desired a swimming companion. “Forgive me, wife. May I be permitted to join you? It looks quite refreshing.”

Abbie smiled bashfully and tucked an invisible curl behind her ear. “I don't mind at all, husband.” She resumed washing the clothes as he finished undressing down to his underwear and deposited his clothes next to hers.

The water was pristine and clear as he waded in. Ichabod dunked himself and enjoyed the cool, refreshing water. How had Abbie found this place? And could they keep it as their own little hideaway?

When he emerged, Abbie was humming softly as she scrubbed stains with a brush but her eyes were feasting upon him. Between the reeds and the wind and water worn boulders, it was a perfect little hiding place. Perfect for a husband to get some much desired privacy the house didn't allot, with his wife.

He paddled up behind her and stood, wrapping his arms around her to lightly relieve her of one of his shirts. “May I help?” he asked softly. 

Abbie drooped her head forward and laughed sweetly. “How do you propose you're helping?”

Ichabod scoffed with mock offense. “Are you suggesting I just let my clothing remain soiled instead of washing them before you got here?” He looked around. “Where’s the soap and washing board?”

“The what?” Abbie asked as she turned in his embrace and placed her hands on his chest. Needless to say it wasn't even an entire minute before the shirt was floating lazily toward the nearby shore and Ichabod was wading backwards into deeper water, holding on to his wife. “Ichabod! What on Earth?” she gasped, clinging to him tightly. 

Ichabod smirked. “You came out much further than this to dip yourself before I joined you.”

A shocked gasp ripped between Abbie's lips and she gave him a playful swat on the shoulder. “Ichabod Crane. I am a _lady_. You shouldn't _peep in_ on a lady when she's swimming.”

“Even if the lady is my wife and presenting such a delectable temptation?” Ichabod asked. He tilted her chin and licked his lips as he zeroed in on her mouth. “May I kiss you?”

“I'd be offended if you didn't,” Abbie breathed. She tilted her head back and sighed wistfully, staring up at the sky. She’d never seen it look so blue before in Sleepy Hollow. “It's so beautiful.”

Ichabod studied Abbie a long moment before softly responding, “Yes you are.”

Abbie gasped softly and dropped her forehead against his. Her small hands stroked his beard then slid into his hair. Ichabod leaned closer and brushed his lips over hers as he cupped the back of her neck in his palm.

She made a soft sound he had quickly grown to love when he kissed her. It never failed to entice him. Her knees clamped onto his hips as he whirled them around and began to plunder her mouth in earnest. Abbie made a surprised noise as he pressed her against one of the smooth boulders that protected the little alcove.

“Ichabod!” she gasped and he let his mouth roam freely along her jaw and neck. She began to make soft, delicate moans that did the sort of things to Ichabod that even the cool water couldn't quench.

He knew without a doubt his brother was just being _ornery_. Abbie was entirely too receptive to his affections for her to be swayed elsewhere. Thus far the only thing that had stopped them from becoming husband and wife in every way was damnable outside interruptions.

As if summoned by the thought, Ichabod paused when he heard the gentle neigh of a horse as it sauntered past the entry to their hideaway. Ichabod put a finger to Abbie's lips and waited for the sound of hoofsteps to move further away. When he looked back at Abbie she was grinning wickedly.

“Afraid someone will interrupt again, husband,” she teased.

“Actually,” he murmured with a grin. “I'm terrified they will, wife.” He swore the next person that interrupted one of their romantic interludes would be meeting his fists and would very well probably end up in the company of the town undertaker.

Abbie squeaked as Ichabod stood to his full height, pulling her completely from the water. Then she laughed softly and nipped at his bottom lip. “Then we should probably hurry.”

“With you, my love, I could never hurry,” Ichabod said softly.

He tugged her shift from between them until it was a dripping tangle of cotton bundled up at Abbie's waist. Ichabod yanked his attention to the reeds when he heard a couple of horses frolicking. Abbie giggled and buried her face in the curve of his neck when he growled with frustration.

“Maybe if we remain very still they’ll go away,” she whispered, still vibrating with mirth.

Ichabod was less happy. He was at his wits end - all he wanted to do was bury himself deeply inside of his beautiful wife, was that too much to ask?

Was it?

Apparently it was, because out the corner of his eye Ichabod could see Katrina’s head part the reeds, nosing at the water before she began to drink.

Abbie started giggling and when he gave an exasperated, “Katrina! What do you think you're - Katrina, sto--”

The horse had lifted her head at the sound of her name and trod happily into the water to nudge her human’s cheek with a gentle nicker of greeting.

“The laundry!” Abbie suddenly yelped, pointing as the gentle slosh of water from Katrina joining them caused her basket to come loose and float away. It was only a matter of seconds before the Rio Grande claimed the baskets and their dirty clothes were gone forever.

Ichabod gave Katrina a gentle push back then carried Abbie out of the water. Thwarted yet again, he internally grumbled. “Why were you washing clothes in the river anyway?”

Abbie blinked up at him curiously. “Isn't that how it's done in these parts? Back home I had traded mending to a laundress to take care of washing my clothes. It hadn't seemed to be such a troublesome task…”

Ichabod chuckled and tilted Abbie's chin up to place a light kiss upon her pouted bottom lip. “While I appreciate your willingness… you hadn’t brought any soap or a scrubbing board with you. What did you hope to do without such necessary items?” Abbie ducked her head in embarrassment. “There's a laundress in town that I have an account with, my love. You needed only ask and I would have told you.”

She ducked her head bashfully. “I just…” she sighed.

Ichabod placed Abbie on the ground gently, not letting her step out of the circle of his arms. “What is it?” he asked curiously.

“I know it’s rough and tumble out here, I read the books,” Abbie said.

Ichabod frowned, but nodded for her to continue.

“I just wanted to let you know I could… keep up. That I wouldn’t be a waste of a wife,” she muttered, trying to tug away from his grasp.

“A waste?” Ichabod echoed. “How could I ever think you were a waste?”

Abbie looked up at him balefully. “How could you know I wasn’t yet?” she asked. 

Ichabod smiled. “Through your letters, of course,” he said. 

Abbie’s eyes widened as she recalled what Ichabod had said about the letters to the Man in Black. “Right,” she breathed. “So everything on those pages, all those words…” Abbie shook her head and rested her hand over Ichabod’s heart. “They were all you?”

Ichabod placed his hand over hers and nodded. “I felt you bare your soul, and I couldn’t help but do the same. So wife,” he said with a grin, “you do know me just as I know you.”

Abbie stared up at him, at this man who proudly proclaimed himself her husband at every chance he got, to whomever was forced to listen in the vicinity. He was kind to people even when he didn’t know if she was about. He had integrity and intellect and he even made her laugh. 

“I’m glad it was you,” she said quietly. “It was the words from your heart that pulled me here. That gave me hope. And nothing against your brother, besides his rudeness upon my first arrival, but I didn’t feel my soul quicken when I met him.”

Ichabod tucked a sodden lock of hair behind her ear and pulled her closer. “And when you met me?”

Abbie scoffed. “I shouldn’t tell you because your head will grow four sizes,” she proclaimed.

“But _wife_ ,” he drawls, making Abbie shiver at the word in Ichabod’s beautiful accent.

“You're already plenty big enough, _husband_ ,” she retorted, her gaze dropping briefly to below his waist. Abbie hid her face in her hand and pulled away, turning to retrieve her gown. Look at her, forgetting her manners and acting like a lustful woman! “Perhaps I will tell you after dinner when we go abed...”

The heat had already, regretfully, rendered her shift partially dry, Ichabod noted. “Abigail…” Ichabod started then stopped himself when she turned and smiled. No. If she didn't want to be at the main house, she would say something, he reasoned. He wasn't going to force her to go to town until their home was repaired. Not if she was comfortable here. “Yes. Perhaps tonight.”

Abbie cinched her apron around her waist and beamed. “Well, as we both know, I am an _excellent_ cook. So I think I'm going to rustle up a couple of those fat hens for dinner. Perhaps I can fill belly’s well enough that there will be no interruptions.”

Ichabod couldn't help but grin as Abbie swished her way through the reeds. After a moment, Katrina nudged his shoulder and nickered softly. He sighed and looked at her. “You always find a way to ruin things,” he teased, patting her withers. She gave an affronted snort and nudged his shoulder. “I jest, Katrina. Come on, let's get you and the others back into the barn. Did Jessie leave the gate open again?”

After getting dressed, Ichabod and Katrina made their way back towards the gate. He couldn't help but grin at his wife chasing one of the fat hens that had escaped the open door of the coop. Although now that he didn't have his lovely wife's kissable lips to distract him, he wondered when Abbie had told Bram about her once being engaged to Lucian Moloch.

~*~

“ _What do you mean she's gone_?” Lucian bellowed. “Check every playhouse, pub, gambling den, and whorehouse in New York and Jersey if you must. We will not leave until she is found.”

“We did,” Andrew replied. “Someone said they saw her last week talking to a native fellow at Pandora’s. Overheard something about taking her west to see her sister. Then they mentioned Jenny talking to Pandora about something.”

“What else,” Lucian snapped. “Who was the man that was talking to Jenny? What did he look like?”

At this Andrew looked uncomfortable. “The source refused to say. But, I still have a little favor with Pandora and she said she did know something.”

“Does she know anything about my Abigail?” Lucian asked, barely able to contain his anger.

“She said if you wanted to know anything, you would have face her like a real man and ask,” Andrew stated then looked away. “You know how she is, sir.”

Growling lightly, Lucian gazed out the window at the little house down the street. In normal circumstances, with both the sisters gone, it would have been easy to seize the property. However, he quickly discovered that if anything were to go awry, the property would belong to Pandora. He _knew_ he should have had Abbie declared hysterical when she tried to break off their engagement. That could have at least given him a little leverage. After all, it had almost worked with Abbie’s mother. If his father hadn’t misstepped and overlooked the fact Ezra Mills had willed the property to his eldest daughter… something Lucian was absolutely certain would have been caught if he hadn’t been off at university at the time.

He was still preparing to journey west to fetch his lover. He'd drag her back to Sleepy Hollow if he had to. Kicking and screaming if he must. He’d make a proper wife out of her yet, even if he had to have her lobotomized first. “Bring me Pandora,” he ordered. If he had to speak to her face-to-face it would be on his own ter--

Andrew pursed his lips and shook his head. “She was quite clear that if you wanted to speak to her, you had to come to her.”

Lucian scowled and slammed his first down on the table. “What is the world coming to, Andrew?” he snarled. “All these insolent women! Something needs to done about this! Next you know they'll be asking for the right to bloody well vote.”

No. He wasn't going to speak to Pandora. He refused to let _her_ think she was above _him_. Besides, if the wrong people saw, it would be damaging to his reputation. He would not go grovelling to a woman. “How much longer until I am ready to travel?”

“By morning, sir,” Andrew replied. “In time to catch the first train.”

“Good,” he huffed.

At least he would be getting his Abigail back soon enough.

~*~

Abbie held up the exhausted chicken and sighed. “Well, I caught you. Now what do I do?” She cooked a brow as the hen gave a low _bbrrrrrp_ then started flapping its wings vehemently. Abbie shrieked and dropped the chicken.

For a moment the hen remained seated on the ground, stunned from its sudden drop. She heard laughter and looked up to see Bram sauntering her way. “Having problems there, sister?” he asked smugly. 

Abbie huffed and reined in calm poise she didn’t feel as she drew herself up to full height. “I'm trying to prepare a couple of these hens for supper. But from the look of things, we'll be having bread and butter.”

“We could have beef,” Bram drawled, moving ever closer.

“I believe Ichabod had a taste for chicken today,” she said. 

She glanced around a spotted one of Bram’s ranch hands not too far off. Jesus was a tall, imposing Mexican man she had only ever heard give a few disgruntled grunts when spoken to. He was covered with tattoos, broad shouldered and muscular. His face was a permanent scowl. He seemed the sort that would gladly snap a man in half of given the fraction of a reason.

Would he raise a hand to help her if Bram tried anything? Would he stand by and watch? Would he help Bram with whatever misdeed he had planned.

“Want me to show you how it's done, Abigail?” Bram asked.

“It can't be too hard,” Abbie said. “I just don't know what it means to wring its neck… I'm sure it'll be easy from there, once I do.”

At that, Bram smirked. “If you can catch the thing,” he chuckled. “You city ladies come here to the west and haven't a clue how to do anything on your own. How are all those books faring you now?”

Abbie wiped her hands on her apron. “At least I am willing to learn. Show me how to do it properly. Since you obviously know how to do it.”

This request turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of Abbie's life. It was all fine and dandy when Bram scooped the chicken up by her legs and held her upside down. “First, the easiest way to catch them is by the legs. Then… put your index finger and thumb about the neck like so,” Bram demonstrated. “Then… grab firmly and...”

Abbie let out a horrified yelp and her hands covered her mouth as he released the legs and with a quick jerk of his hand, the chicken’s neck elongated and he bounced it a couple of times. 

The hen made a low clucking noise.

“It's still alive!” Abbie gasped.

“Dying,” Bram said with a shrug. He held the chicken toward her by its neck. “You can either cut the head off or twist it off. Twisting it off is much cleaner.”

To demonstrate, he used the grip he had with one hand and whirled the chicken like it was a dish towel. Bram let out a laugh as the bottom half of the chicken flopped to the ground, staggered around then settled down as though it still had its head but was just resting for a moment. “Whoops,” Bram chuckled. 

Abbie stood there a long moment after Bram tossed the head aside and swaggered off. Once she was sure he was out of hearing range, she swept up the headless chicken and sat on the back door step, holding it and softly crying as she stroked it’s downy feathers.

No amount of reading had prepared her for the horrifying reality of having to prepare a chicken fresh from the coop. None at all!

“Miss Abbie.”

Abbie looked up at the sound of a gruff but gentle, accented voice. Jesus knelt down in front of her and gently coaxed the chicken from her arms. “Why don't you let me finish preparing this hen for you, Miss Abbie?” 

Abbie sniffled and nodded. “I wanted to prepare four but I don't know if I could… what I mean is…”

Jesus smiled affectionately and dabbed away her tears with a handkerchief. “ _No llores, pequeña flor_. Don't cry. I'll take care of it for you. Like you take care of us.”

“Thank you,” Abbie said softly. “You must think me silly for not being able to…”

“Oh, no, ma'am,” Jesus said, shaking his head. “Not everyone can handle this kind of thing. It just means you're a gentle woman with a gentle soul. Men like me… I've killed other men with my bare hands so chickens are nothing to me, Miss.” 

Her eyes must have widened because he chuckled bashfully. “I was much younger in those days. I regretted it afterwards. But that's why I came to New Mexico. To put my regrets behind me and to try and be a better man.” He looked away hesitantly. “It's also what sets me apart from my bossman. I regret causing people pain. He doesn't. There's something wrong about him. His mind isn't right. Be careful around him, Miss Abbie. Try to never be alone with him. I'd hate to add his life to my list. But I'd do it if he ever hurt you.”

“Thank you, Jesus,” Abbie said, gently touching his arm. “That means alot to me.”

“Any time, Miss Abbie,” Jesus said, standing to his full height. 

Abbie wiped the rest of her tears as he ambled to the coop to scoop up a second chicken and disappeared around the corner of the house. She looked around confused when she heard an affronted _bbrrrrrp_ then looked down to see the discarded chicken head was the source.

She quickly gathered her skirts and nudged it with the toe of her shoe until it was under the corner of the house. “That was equal parts disturbing and disgusting,” Abbie said with a shudder. She sniffled and mopped at her face with the back of her hand.

It was bad enough that Jesus had seen her cry, Heavens forbid Bram or someone else see her being soft over a chicken.

Abbie whirled around when she heard the sound of hoofbeats and a cart. She stepped around to the front of the house as she became curious about what the ruckus was. Had Ichabod already gathered a building crew? Her heart leapt into her throat as she first spotted Katrina, her husband at the reigns of the cart. After a moment she noticed two other figures with him. First was Ash. Then between the two men she saw Jenny's warm face break out into a wide grin.

“Abbie!” Jenny shouted, standing and waving.

“Jenny!” Abbie returned, running toward the cart.

Jenny wasted no time in leaping from the side of the carriage and running full tilt toward her sister. The two met in a crushing hug. Jenny picked Abbie up around the waist and whirled her around. “Abbie, my Abbie,” Jenny practically sobbed. “I missed you so much!”

Holding Abbie at arms length, her eyes swept over her sister. “Are you okay?” Jenny asked. “Ash took us to the other house and it was burned up! Your man told us what happened. _Are you okay_?”

Abbie waved her hand dismissively. “I'm fine. I'm _fine_. Ichabod and I were both a little shaken but…” her eyes drifted to her husband as the cart came to a stop and he climbed out with Ash. “Everything is fine.”

Jenny glanced in the direction of Abbie's gaze. “Mmhmm. I bet that dick gives you all kinds of shakes,” she retorted saucily.

“Jenny!” Abbie gawked, swatting Jenny's arm.

“I'm just saying… I heard a few stories from Ash on the way,” Jenny teased. “So was Ash telling the truth or having a laugh?”

“Its none of your business!” Abbie hissed. Though she was now wondering what kind of tales Ash had told her sister. Abbie had felt it well enough to say, yes, maybe it would be capable of rendering her into a shuddering mess. But the fact remained, Jenny hadn't needed to be so crude! “Are you staying here with us?”

“Away from all the fun in town?” Jenny scoffed. When Abbie's face fell, Jenny frowned. “Are you sure everyth--” her voice trailed off as Ichabod got within hearing range. “I'm staying at the Golden Nugget. Ash has a friend there that offered to put me up in one of their fancier suites.”

Abbie glanced toward her husband. She nearly laughed at the look on his face that suggested he had just heard a choir of angels singing.

“Perhaps we could stay at the Golden Nugget so you can be closer to your sister,” Ichabod suggested as he approached. “Not to mention, you need to get your shop arranged.”

“What about the repairs to the house?” Abbie asked. “Won't it be an inconvenience for you?”

Ichabod looked away for a moment. “It's too damaged to salvage,” he admitted quietly. “We'll have to rebuild. I'm sorry.”

Abbie swept into Ichabod's arms and he wrapped her in his embrace. “You have nothing to be sorry for, husband.” She looked up at him. “Everyone did the best they could to save the house.”

“Eh,” Ash scoffed. “With the amount of people that love Ichabod, you'll have a new house in less than a month I bet. That is, if he doesn’t get caught up in all the fancy details.”

“A big house,” Ichabod promised. “With more than enough room for your sister and Ash and…” he blushed lightly. “Children.”

Abbie ducked her head at Jenny’s cackle behind her. Children. Of course she wanted children, but they had been an abstract concept - something in the future. With someone who wasn't Lucian.

The future is now, Abbie realized. And Ichabod wasn't Lucian.

“Yes,” she said firmly, with more confidence than she felt. “Children.”

Ichabod’s smile was brighter than the sun. 

~*~

Bram walked into the yard and saw all his men lounging around, plates full of fragrant food. On the hastily gathered table there were platters filled with roasted seasoned potatoes, gravy, and crispy looking johnny cakes with glistening, buttery edges. The main event had to be the almost literal mountain of fried chicken pieces that quickly dwindled as men rushed to get fed before it ran out.

“What are you doing?” he barked, but only one person actually looked up at him. 

This wouldn’t do - he’s losing control of his own men. That damnable pint-sized temptress had enchanted to them to do her will instead of his!

“I don’t think I rang the dinner bell,” Bram said, staring back at blank faces as they chewed their food. 

“Miss Abbie did,” Jesus said, appearing like an overly large and silent spectre. He carried two large pitchers in his hands as he moved around Bram and set them down on the table. “Miss Abbie made us lemonade,” he rumbled, and the men cheered.

“Bless her,” someone said with their mouth full of potatoes. “If she weren’t already married I’d have to marry her!”

“Like you’d be good enough for her,” Jesus barked. “No more words about Miss Abbie,” he said, and stared the rest of the men into silence. Jesus turned to Bram and Bram fought to keep himself from straightening to his full height. “We’re done for the day,” Jesus said. “Miss Abbie's orders and Ichabod approved it.”

Bram swallowed. “Fine. Just don’t get too used to this,” he said, gesturing to the food. “She’ll realize what scum you are and I promise you the food will stop.” 

He didn’t bother to wait for a response before stalking off to the manor. Where did she get off, Bram wondered. Feeding his men a respectable lunch every once in a while was fine, but that food looked good enough for actual people to eat--why wouldn’t it be on their own table?

Bram burst through the door, smelling more of the same delicious food he’d caught a whiff of outside. For the first time in years he let his nose lead him to the dining room. Maybe he’d find Abigail alone, setting the table. As a gracious brother-in-law he’d offer to help her. That would get him close enough to again try and determine the source of her utterly delightful scent. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before and quite often Bram found himself almost _yearning_ to press his face against the side of her neck and inhale. 

Amongst other things. _While_ doing other things, he muses.

Bram pushed open the door and stopped short. The table was set and there was food present, ready to be devoured.

Not a soul at the table. Where was everyone?

Immediately he realized Ichabod must have absconded with his… bride, upstairs. 

“Bram!”

He turned to find himself being clapped on the shoulder by Ash. “What are you doing here?” he asked as the man sauntered past him and into the dining room. 

Ash frowned and swung his leg over the top of the chair before falling onto it heavily. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asked, grabbing the platter of fried chicken and dumping two big pieces onto his plate.

Bram sputters. “How dare -”

“Are Ichabod and Abbie still packing?” Ash asked, completely ignoring how red in the face the other man had become.

Bram’s anger rushed out of him, practically fleeing before the confusion. “I’m sorry, what? Packing?” Before he could demand clarification there was the sound of something falling upstairs, followed by an indulgent, feminine groan. 

Ash smirked. “Oh yeah, they’re still packing. Or, well, I suppose it's Ichabod doing the packing. Damn, it's been at two hours since I left, figured they'd be done by now.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Pretty sure the late Missus didn’t realize these great acoustics would prove to be so trying.” His grin is more a baring of teeth than anything, and it remained frozen on his face until Bram backed out of the room with a huff. 

As Bram stormed up the stairs, he realized he was going to need a better excuse than Ichabod sullying _his_ bride. “ _Ichabod_ ,” he could hear Abigail moan. “ _Please. I can't take anymore. I need you to…_ ”

He felt a wave of jealousy and shoved his brother's room door open. Both faces snapped toward him with surprised expressions. Abigail squeaked and yanked the neckline of her shift up her shoulders whilst his brother scrambled to his feet, doubled over as he tried to fasten his trousers.

His brother ran his fingers through his hair and gave a frustrated groan. “What is it, Abraham?” Ichabod snapped. Bram had never seen his brother in such a disarray. Nor had he ever seen such a murderous glower on Ichabod's face.

Bram, himself felt the tingling of fury that his brother had his face nestled into the very juncture he had been imaging himself nuzzling, when he walked in. His fingers curled and uncurled with the urge to punch Ichabod in the face. Then he remembered himself once again. “What's this about the two of you _packing_?”

Ichabod rubbed his face with frustration and glared at Bram. He had never seen his brother so irritated, Bram suddenly found it amusing and chuckled. “Abigail's sister has made it from the East and is staying at the Golden Nugget. Ash has taken her back to town but, I thought it would bring my wife comfort to be near her family whilst we rebuild our home and she sets up her shop in town.”

_Dammit_ , Bram realized he couldn't argue against that point. Not without turning his own words against himself. His eyes fell to Abigail who had pulled the bed sheets up to her neck for modesty. She glanced hesitantly between him and his brother.

Was she aware of the lust she elicited in his soul? Was she scared his brother--her husband--would discover she had been tempting him? He wanted to kiss her swollen lips and tell her that he could easily make his brother less of a worry for her. 

His brother hadn't an ounce of fight in him. The same for that stupid Lucian Moloch. He could get close enough to snap Moloch's twee neck with ease. And none of Moloch's men would do anything about it because they weren't loyal. 

Bram must have been staring at the sliver of brown shoulder peeping from the edge of the bed sheet for too long because his brother side stepped to put himself between Bram and Abigail.

“Is that all you wished to know, Abraham?” Ichabod asked crossly.

No. He wanted to know why Ichabod had married his bride and had the audacity to bed her _in his house_! He also wanted to know why Abigail was _letting_ Ichabod bed her when her heart belonged to him. Those letters had made her fall in love with him! 

Although, he could understand. A woman's duty was to her husband even if she were the type to go about _reading_ and learning about sciences. And Ichabod was her husband. For now anyway. Not to mention her kind were known for being lustful little things. The justifications didn't make Bram any less jealous or annoyed.

“Yes,” Bram said tensely. “I suppose the feast below is for us to enjoy as a family before the two of you leave?” When Ichabod nodded, Bram huffed and made his way from the room, slamming the door behind him.

~*~

Jenny observed her sister fumble with little trinkets on the vanity. It wasn't like Abbie to fumble and fidget unless something was wrong. Currently the menfolk were downstairs laughing and smacking each other on the back over pints of beer. 

In normal circumstances, Jenny would be joining the fellas but she hadn't seen her sister in weeks. And Abbie had been curious about the suite Joe had put her up in. It had once belonged to the madam of the Golden Nugget, before she became the librarian.

It was on the topmost floor of the building and took up the floor in its entirety. It was the only room to feature indoor plumbing, complete with a huge tub to soak in. From what she heard, it was all complimentary of her sister's husband.

Jenny couldn't help but wonder what the former madam had provided that made the man so eager to supply her with such lavish amenities _and_ to appoint her as the librarian. 

But that's none of her business.

Abbie tinkered with a doll Jenny had acquired from a Russian guy in a bet. Each piece contained a smaller version inside of it. Abbie was currently trying to put it back together. After a moment, Abbie let out a frustrated sigh and just dropped all the pieces.

“Oh… _sod it_ ,” Abbie huffed.

“Is everything okay, Abbie?” Jenny asked curiously. She unbuttoned her sleeves and started folding them up to her elbows. Personally, Jenny didn't want to march downstairs and deck her new brother-in-law, but she would if he had done something to hurt Abbie. She suspected she could take him with ease.

Abbie bundled her skirt up in her fists and let out an annoyed sigh. “Have you ever wanted something but every time you go to indulge yourself… someone or something calls you away or interrupts?”

“That kept happening to me earlier when I was trying to have a whiskey with the barkeep. Folks in this town are nosy as Hell,” Jenny commented. 

Abbie sighed and shook her head. “I didn't expect you to understand,” she groaned. “You don't particularly crave men…”

Jenny held up a finger to make her sister pause. “For starters. I will have you know that, while I do have a preference for ladies, I do indulge in the company of men on occasion.”

“Your dandies don't count!” Abbie huffed. “You’re practically one of them.”

Jenny's jaw dropped in offense. “I will have you know, I took sport with Ash no less than six times on the way here! He’s not the first nor the last either. I like manly men, I like my dandies. I like my ladies...”

Abbie gasped dramatically, her hand on her chest. “Jennifer Lori Mills! I thought I knew you…” she pursed her lips. “Although, he is quite handsome and charming. I don't blame you one bit.”

Jenny cocked her head. “What exactly are you trying to say, Abbie?” Her grin widened. “Are you trying to say you're getting frustrated because you can't get up your husband's stump?”

Abbie gawked and swatted Jenny's arm. Jenny cackled. Abbie ducked her head shyly, “To be fair, I don't think stump is an adequate enough description if what I've been feeling is correct.”

“Well, we can't all get--”

“I feels like it's an entire tree,” Abbie muttered. “Puts Lucian to shame.”

“Abbie,” Jenny said gently. She walked over and put her hands on her sister's shoulders. “Your man is a good one. Ash spoke the moon and stars of him. He looks at you like Daddy used to look at Mama. Don't compare him to something like Lucian.”

Part of Jenny knew Abbie, for some unknown reason, had been in love with that horrible man back home. Jenny had tried and tried to make her see that Lucian was from the same cloth as his father. But Abbie had insisted there was good in him, that he was his own man, unbeholden to his father's sins.

Despite Abbie being groomed and trained by Pandora, she had still fallen hook line and sinker for Lucian’s lies.

_“Where the hell is your sister?” Lucian demanded._

_Half of his face was covered with bandaging that had traces of blood seeping through in spots.. Jenny smirked as he tried to tower himself over her. “What makes you think I know where she is? You've been keeping her held up and away from society since you found out she was one of Pandora's proteges.” Her eyes swept over his face. She was very familiar with what Pandora did to men that dared to hurt one of her ‘daughters’. “Pandora do that to you because of what you did to Abbie?”_

_His eyes turned furiously dark and he lunged forward to grab Jenny's throat. “That’s none of your business! When you see your sister, tell her you have until the end of the week to pay your debts to me or I will string you up in the streets like the worthless whore you are. Don't think I won't do it, Jennifer Mills. I will not go easy on you just because you’re a woman.”_

Jenny had found Abbie in Pandora's personal quarters, curled up and disheveled, crying. She smiled as she remembered the soft laugh Abbie made as she admitted to being the one to damage Lucian. Abbie had cursed herself for being stupid enough to think Lucian had changed and fretted that he would never take her back after using Pandora’s style of branding for marking him as a shameful man. “You deserve to be happy, Abbie,” Jenny said. “Especially after everything Lucian put you through. You can’t let him be some kinda monster you’re scared of popping out of the trunk.”

“ _Us_ ,” Abbie corrected. “What he put us through. What that entire family put us through. What his father did to Daddy. What his father tried to do to Mama. What he tried to do to you. What he did do to me. I just wish I hadn't been in denial for so long.”

“Love makes fools of wise men,” Jenny chuckled. “Heaven knows I think that husband of yours is fool enough for everyone. Be happy for once, Abbie. You get to be your own woman now.”

After a moment a smile slowly crept to Abbie's lips. “You're right. I do.”

~*~

Abbie found humour at finding herself once again in Room 4 of the Golden Nugget… this time as a married woman. She felt a lightness in her soul that she hadn't felt since the attack at the house and being at Rose Manor. 

She hummed softly as she carefully unpacked hers and Ichabod’s smalls and placed them in the rickety chest of drawers.

Currently her husband was still downstairs conversing with his brother and Joe. After Jenny had retired to her room with Ash, a couple of the girls, and a deck of cards, Abbie found she had been unable to stay below. It wasn't because of Bram leering at her anytime Ichabod got pulled away by a citizen, it was because she couldn't shake the feeling that anyone there could have been the two assailants that had gotten away. 

She finished putting away their things and glanced at the bed. It had been luxurious when she had been a single woman alone, but with her extremely tall and broad husband it was going to be a tight squeeze. At the thought of them pressed together again in bed brought the heat prior to Brams interruption at the manor into Abbie’s loins, and she whimpered quietly at the sensation of her core throbbing. 

Her face warmed so she patted her cheeks with a bit of damp flannel. 

_This is ridiculous,_ she thought, pacing the room and biting her bottom lip. _You’re a married woman, Abbie. There’s no shame in seducing your husband._

But was she sure yet? Sure enough to give up her body? Yes, it had been several weeks since she’d first put her foot down in Salt River Falls, and had been married to Ichabod about that same amount of time. So far he appeared to be the same type of man no matter the hour of the day or amount of drink he’d consumed.

His manners were always impeccable and he consistently asked for Abbie’s opinion on matters and conversed with her as if he actually cared what she thought and felt. None of his men seemed to have a bad word to say, and he didn’t fall into drink every night or leave for long stretches without letting Abbie know where he’d gone. 

When he indulged in the drink, he waxed poetic even more than normal, swishing and waving his hands excitedly as he spoke. Then there was the way he would look at her so adoringly… the way he preened when he called her _wife_ was just…

Lucian had never puffed his chest out when introducing her to people, he had treated her as an adornment. Lucian had turned into a completely different person after she lie with him--and Abbie shuddered gently as she recalled how cold and uncaring he had been during the actual act, ignoring her discomfort and requests to give her a moment. And then there was the time when he...

_Stop comparing everything to Lucian. Ichabod is a good man and doesn't deserve it_.

Abbie stopped her pacing and went to her trunk, digging deep to the bottom and pulling out her most _scandalous_ sewing project. She had started it just yesterday morning. It was meant to titillate and Abbie had planned to wear it for her darling husband to incite his passion.

They wouldn't have any further interruptions. Not unless someone decided to burn down the Nugget too. But she doubted that would happen because it would mean Miss Ruby's would be the only place to fetch a drink and gamble.

And nobody wanted that!

She began removing her dress quickly; Abbie didn’t know when Ichabod would be returning but something told her she didn’t have much time. After all, she had asked him not to be too late and cast him her sweetest smile.

Her mind made up, Abbie started getting ready to seduce her man.

Hopefully she’d knock his boots clean off. 

~*~

Ichabod sighed heavily as he reached the door of his and Abbie's rented room. He lightly traced the number 4. The very room she had been in when she first came to Salt River Falls. The place he had first seen her in her beautiful white dress to take their vows. If not for some low life's destroying their home, odds are they'd have her sister in their home and none of them would be in this deplorable place.

He turned the knob and scowled when he discovered it wasn't locked. Slowly he pushed the door open. “Abigail… Please make certain you lock the door. Anyone could just wal--”

He stopped dead in his tracks at the scene that greeted him. “Ab… Abigail…” he choked.

He startled when he heard footsteps in the hallway and quickly moved into the room, closing the door behind him so no one could see what he was feasting his wide eyes upon. Ichabod’s mouth was parched as he gaped like a fish out of water. He fumbled in his pocket for the room key and turned away to lock the door and regain his breath.

He had been wholly unprepared for this!

When he turned, his precious Abigail was still seated upon the chest of drawers, lounging back against the mirror. She was clad in a small gown made of the blue silk he had purchased her. The neckline draped seductively off of her shoulders, showing off the roundness of her breasts as she posed herself salaciously. The gown cinched at her tiny waist, the skirt of the gown barely kissed the top of her thighs.

“Abbie,” Ichabod groaned, as she slipped off of the chest of drawers.

“Ichabod,” Abbie replied, smooth as honey. 

The lamp light behind her made the silk practically transparent, showing off the silhouette of her curvaceous figure. His feet propelled him across the floor to take her in his arms. Abbie grasped his shirt in her fists as he hoisted her up against him and his mouth crashed down on hers.

“Wife,” he whispered.

Abbie smiled coyly as her hands slid up his chest and started to unfasten the buttons. “Husband.” 

Ichabod cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the apples of her cheeks. “Are you trying to seduce me, my Abigail?”

“That depends,” she murmured. “Is it working?”

For the first time in Ichabod’s life, he felt inspired to do something moderately vulgar. He took one of Abbie’s hands and pressed it to the front of his trousers, then gently thrust against her palm. “What do you think, my love?”

Her lips curled into a pretty smile. “I think I know someone who would love to meet him and have a very intimate conversation…” 

Abbie easily pulled him toward the bed. It was like she had enchanted him and was luring him to a wondrous fairy realm to take him prisoner with her charms. Already thoughts of the real, mortal world had flitted away, leaving him focused solely on her.

“How do you enchant me so easily?” Ichabod moaned. He lifted her onto the bed and she fell back as his hands ghosted up the inside of her legs, and pressed her thighs apart. His heart thrummed faster as the silk draped over every curve of her gorgeous body and the tiny skirt slipped upward until he had the faintest glimpse of curls at her apex.

“I have longed to properly taste you, my love,” Ichabod croaked, pulling her toward the edge of the bed. Abbie's lips pursed as he eased down to his knees next to the bed. With all the interruptions they had faced thus far, he was ready to simply pleasure his wife without any sort of preamble.

“What do you mean by properly taa--aaayyyeee…”

Abbie's back bowed as he spread her folds and stroked his tongue over the pink nub of her clit. She made a soft, pleased but curious sound. That was enough to encourage him further.

He snaked his hands under her thighs and grasped her wrists. The precious few times he had been fortunate enough to touch her intimately, she had always brought the back of her hand to muffle the sounds she made. He wanted her to have no choice but to cry out his name to the Heavens. He wanted to hear how much pleasure he gave her.

Ichabod kissed her core deeply, as though it were her mouth he sought to explore and not her most intimate flesh. The tip of his nose nudged and rubbed her clit as he feasted upon the sweetness between her thighs.

Abbie tugged against the grip on her wrists as she softly sighed and moaned. “Ichabod… what are you do...oooh… ohhh… God…” 

Her thighs tightened around his face so Ichabod doubled his efforts until he tasted sweetness on the tip of his tongue. He released one wrist, then glanced to his wife's face. She propped herself up with her freed hand and met his eyes. He held her gaze as his lips focused on her clit and he pushed two fingers into her.

Abbie made a small strangled sound and her eyes widened. Ichabod pumped his fingers into her as she fell back, her free hand falling to his head to grip his hair. She thrust her hips against his mouth. “Oh God… Ichabod…ho… oh! Oh!” Her legs jerked and kicked and she yanked hard on his hair. “Yes! Oh God, don’t stop…”

When Ichabod next withdrew his fingers, dampness poured from her, spilling onto his beard as his tongue swiped between her folds to taste her desire. He moaned softly as he kissed her again. He pulled back. “You taste divine, my love,” he rasped. He was about to say more but she put her hand on the back of his head and shoved him back into place.

If she had glanced down she would have seen the amused glimmer in his eyes at her insistence. Ichabod watched her face as he let his fingers return to the fray, this time adding a third digit that made his lovely wife arch and squeal his name as she drenched his hand. He could feel her walls throbbing around his fingers as Abbie softly sobbed, “Oh god, oh god… so good…”

Ichabod nuzzled her folds, coating his face with her scent. When he withdrew his fingers again, he clamoured to his feet and quickly finished removing his shirt. Abbie was a vision, spread out before him, chest heaving as she tried to capture her breath, her hips still gently thrusting, trying to find the relief that was currently being denied her.

“Ichabod…” Abbie whimpered. “Why did you stop?”

“Because you’re ready,” he said darkly, unfastening his trousers.

“Ready for wha--Oh my God,” Abbie yelped as he stood straight, after removing his trousers, socks, and boots in one go. Her wide, lust blown eyes were on his groin. “It’s… big… I mean… I felt it before… but I had no idea it was...” She moistened her lips and gulped as she scrambled onto her knees. Her dainty fingers wrapped around him. “Oh God…” She looked up at him, a wildness in her eyes. “Will it fit?”

Ichabod shivered as he nodded. He moved to capture her lips but his lover surprised him and next he knew, he was on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and she was throwing her leg over his thighs, straddling him. She hummed, eagerly licking her lips as her fingers stroked his length then tested his girth. 

“Ichabod… it’s just… so big…” Her eyes flitted to his and she smiled shyly. “I've never seen one this size. Are you _sure_ it’s going to fit?”

“Only one way to find out,” Ichabod replied, squirming beneath her, trying his best to let her move at a pace she was comfortable with.

Abbie shimmied up his body, trapping his erection between their bodies until he could feel the heat of her folds enveloping the tip of his cock. Ichabod reached behind her and positioned himself. She rested her hands on his chest and rocked back. She gasped softly.

“God… yes…” she hissed, pressing back more. She pushed herself into a kneeling position, her mouth forming a soft “o” as she sank further down his shaft. “Oh… _God_ ,” she whimpered. “Oh God… It’s so big…”

Ichabod was only vaguely aware of what Abbie was saying, he tried hard to breath as her slick walls slowly encompassed him, throbbing and rippling, opening to him as she rotated her hips and pressed down, pushing him deeper. She sighed loudly and rocked against him. His hands glided up her thighs, which he grasped and yanked down as he thrust upward. 

“Ichabod!” Abbie shouted. She suddenly comes alive, grinding and rotating her hips as she rocks and lifts and drops herself on his groin--fucking herself with his cock. At this rate, he knows there is no way he can last. He had been fighting the urge to come since his face had been buried between her legs. “I had no idea it could feel _so good_.”

Ichabod grasps at her little dress and encourages it upward. After a moment, Abbie pulls a ribbon at her side and it loosens enough for her to pull it over her head and throw it aside. “Good God,” he groans as he sees how wide his cock has spread her. 

She rears back and he feels her hands on his thighs, small screams coming from her throat as she bounces harder, drives him deeper. 

“Abbie…” he cries out. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip to keep from releasing at the heavenly vision of his wife impaling herself on his cock. Her breasts gently bouncing, making his tongue itches with the urge to whirl around the dark peaks and tug at them with his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to give her just as much pleasure as she was giving herself.

His hands slide up her stomach and he takes her breasts in his hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers. He chokes when her walls clench around him hard. Thankfully she stills for a moment, her body arched, eyes wide, and he is able to recapture his breath. Abbie shudders and she slumps forward onto his chest and he feels a gush of heat on his lap.

Ichabod feels dampness on his chest and wonders if his beloved is crying. He softly strokes her hair. “Are you alright, my love?”

Abbie lifted her head, her eyes seemed almost drunken and saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth. “What was that,” she groaned. “Oh heavens, you're still like a rock.”

One corner of Ichabod’s mouth pulled into a smirk as Abbie pushed herself to sitting up again. He bit back a groan when her walls squeezed around him. “I’m always hard when you are near my love,” he moaned. His eyes roamed over her slowly. “I doubt I shall ever again be soft… and that feeling was you having your release, my love.”

Abbie’s head fell back when she seated herself completely on his groin and moaned loudly. “God it feels so good…” She whimpered softly when she raised herself. She dropped down hard and keened. Her fingers slithered down to her clit and she rubbed furiously. “I just want you inside me… You make me feel so full…”

Ichabod sat up and gathered her into his arms. Abbie gasped as he spun around and pinned her down on the bed. On one side he hooked her leg over his arm, pressing his hand into the mattress. She arched her head back and sucked in a sharp breath. He guided her other knee toward her chest, cradling his palm against the back of her knee as he bore his weight against her core.

“Mmmhmm… nnnn,” was all that came out of her mouth as she tried to rock against him despite his having her in a position that made it almost impossible.

He had let her control her pleasure so far. But now he was going to make her feel more than good… he was going to make her come completely undone. He set up a punishing pace, thrusting deep and hard into her core. Several times, she tried to speak but her words died on her lips. She clutched her pillow, her face contorting as her head thrashed back and forth. 

“Is this what you wanted, my Abbie?” Ichabod growled. The control he had been so preciously clinging to was dangerously close to snapping. It felt good to be buried inside of her, to the hilt, something he hadn't thought would ever be possible.

Abbie nodded frantically. “Yes… Yes! I want it… Oh god! How is it fitting inside of me? _Fuck_ ,” she shrieked, her eyes locked on where he was pumping his cock into her heat. “Oh God… oh God… You’re going to rip me in half.” She squeezed her eyes shut has her head fell back hard. “Ichabod… Oh God… harder…”

Ichabod grunted as he slammed into her harder, every ounce of his self-control was gone. All that mattered was sliding in and out of Abbie's body, that blessed heat clinging to him. He felt like a wild thing as his mouth devoured her breasts, making her whimper and scream. Come morning there would be evidence of his desperation dotting her breasts and chest, just as her own desires would mark his neck and streak down his back.

Ichabod grasped the headboard with one hand and rutted hard into his bride, grinding his hips between her thighs, punctuated with a rough thrust wanting to get deeper. Abbie's body twisted and gyrated against him, her fingernails scratched down his chest as she drew her knees further up his sides.

She made an intelligible sound as she met release again, her nails clamouring at his shoulders. She gasped loudly as he pressed deep and found his own release inside of her. 

“Oh god…” she croaked. “I can feel it… Oh god… yes… I feel you throbbing inside of me, Ichabod… Oh god… It’s so hot… Oh god… Oh god… there’s so much…” she babbled. Her walls throbbed and rippled and squeezed his cock, urging him to fill her with his seed.

And she was right. He had spent himself so thoroughly inside of her, each time he pressed deeper the evidence trickled from her body and trailed a path to her belly. Ichabod swore, wrapped his arms around her thighs and jerked his hips against her as he gave her more. He could feel the heat of his and her release spilling down his thighs.

By the heavens, it felt glorious!

“Oh God,” it was Ichabod’s turn to groan. “Abbie… You are absolutely divine...” He revelled in the wet sounds their bodies made as they crashed together.

He released her legs and they fell spread at his hips. Abbie’s eyes fluttered open and she tilted her hips. “More,” she demanded weakly, her fingernails scratching up and down his back. Sweat was on her forehead, she was panting for breath, her eyes couldn't focus. It was with a small amount of pride Ichabod realized he had pleasured her so well she couldn’t think straight.

Ichabod leaned down, gathering her into his arms as he rested his head upon her breasts. She made a small, helpless sound when he withdrew from her body. He concurred, wholeheartedly with her objection but they both soon fell asleep, entangled together, exhausted from their enthusiastic coupling. The last thing he remembered that night was Abbie gently stroking his hair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was 38 pages and growing. So we decided to cut the chapter in half. :)

It was with little regret that Ichabod eased from his wife's embrace and pressed a pillow into her arms in his stead. She snuggled against the pillow and sighed softly. 

His wife. In every way. 

They had made love no less than four times, the far side of the bed still damp from their most recent coupling. He gently pulled back the blankets and rested his hand on her belly, still hardly able to believe such an angel not only agreed to - but seemed eager to - have his children. Abbie hummed softly in her sleep, her hand covering his briefly before she shivered and curled into a tighter ball around his pillow.

Ichabod tucked the blanket around her once again. He desperately hoped he hadn't been too rough and brutish with her. She had been tempting him for so long and all the interruptions… 

No. 

There was no excuses to be made if he had hurt her in his desperation to have her. She certainly didn't _behave_ as though he had done her harm. In fact, more times than not, she had begged for him to press deeper, to take her harder. 

Ichabod was aware she had lovers in her past. But it had been he that had shown her true pleasure. Just as he, himself, had past loves he had never known pleasure like he had found with _his wife_.

With a faint smile, he trailed his knuckles along her cheek. Part of him wished to wake her and make love again. But another part reminded Ichabod there were certain bodily functions he needed to attend to. His stomach chimed in to make it known some food would be nice as well.

He quickly pulled on his clothing from the day before, scribbled his love a note that said he had gone to fetch breakfast, and tiptoed from the room, closing the door gently behind him. Ichabod walked to the end of the hall and used the window to check the line for the privies. Thank goodness there was only one man in the line; Ichabod hightailed it down the back staircase before others began to wake.

When he returned Joe was at the bar, a serious expression on his face as he checked a list before him as he counted the bottles beneath the bar, coming back up to mark his paper as he muttered to himself. 

“Good morning,” Ichabod said as he leaned against the bar. 

The younger man stood and grinned widely. “Mornin’ Ichabod,” he greeted. “I take it you and the missus slept well?” 

There was a certain cheekiness to Joe's tone that made Ichabod jut his chin in the air haughtily as he took a seat. “We did,” he said with a small huff, wondering where Joe was going with his question.

“Well I know the patron in Room Three last night caused a little ruckus because there was so much…” Joe cleared his throat “... noise coming from your room. So obviously I was a little concerned there were... issues.”

Ichabod frowned. “I didn’t hear anything,” he said.

“I’m sure,” Joe retorted quickly. “But I’m sure you didn’t come down here this early just to chat with me,” he said. 

Ichabod shifted, unsure why he felt uncomfortable. “As much as I do enjoy your company, I would like to order breakfast,” he said. “I am certain my wife will be feeling somewhat hungry this morning after all the relocating we had yesterday.”

Joe snorted. “Relocating? Oh, is that what they call it these days?”

“I beg your pardon?” Ichabod asked. 

“Ever the gentleman,” Joe said.

“Speak plain young Mister Corbin,” Ichabod said, as he narrowed his eyes.

Joe beamed. “Gladly. Half of Salt River Falls could hear your wife hollering about how big you are. Betsy was annoyed as hell when I got here and complained about how her patron wanted to know why she never commented on how big he was.”

Ichabod began to sputter but his pride made him flush and puff out his chest. “We'll try to be more considerate in the future. But, I shall remind you, we are newlyweds and are quite eager to start our family.”

Joe shrugged indifferently. “Hey, I don't mind, the ones that didn’t want to payout on the bet because they thought it was all a sham have to pay out now. “

Ichabod shook his head and scoffed with good humor. “You lot are truly deplorable degenerates of the highest order.”

“And that's why you like us,” Joe laughed. “Let me go tell Cookie to make a large breakfast for you and your _hungry_ bride. What’ll ya have?”

Ichabod glanced up at the chalkboard menu written out in Cookie’s tight, heavy lettering. “I’ll have steak and eggs and Abigail will have biscuits and sausage gravy,” he said. 

“Alright.” With a nod Joe went to a small window on the other side of the bar and yelled the order and when he returned he set to polishing some glasses. “So anything on who attacked your house?”

Ichabod shook his head. “Nothing. The young gentleman that was captured claims he hadn't even known the intentions of the others.”

Joe looked skeptical. “Really.”

“He said he met the men in Las Cruces. The men kept their faces covered the entire time and offered him money to perform a job. He thought, perhaps they needed help on a ranch or something of that nature but apparently when they were a short distance from the ranch they produced a white hood for him to wear and when he tried to back out they threatened to kill him.”

Joe made a suspicious noise as he shook his head. “Sure - He couldn’t think of anything better than that?”

It did feel a little convenient for Ichabod. “Marshal Irving mentioned that they think they can get the truth out of him,” he stated, frowning deeply. “Do you know anything of this elusive Man in Black?” 

“I know _of_ him,” Joe said. 

Ichabod nodded. “From all appearances he seems a thorough investigator. I trust Mayor Irving’s judgment, of course, but I would like some... assurances he will make an effort to find the guilty parties.”

Joe shrugged. “Sophie used to mention him occasionally.”

Ichabod recalled his and Sophie’s conversations and realized not one time did she mention the man. “She never had to me,” he said, and he tamped down the desire to wince at how positively _petulant_ it sounded aloud. 

“Gee, I wonder why,” Joe said dryly. “ But I've heard several versions of his story. Some say he was a run away from the Deep South turned Union spy. Others say his family came from up near Illinois then moved East and that he had once been married before he came out this way and some cowboys murdered his wife and kids.”

“Oh good heavens,” Ichabod murmured. 

“I've also heard he lives out in the desert by himself somewhere between here and Las Cruces. Take your pick.” Joe shrugged. “I don’t think no one knows the truth except him and maybe Sophie. But I do know this - they only set him on the urgent and bad cases. Remember the Rowdy Loitche Boys?”

Ichabod nodded. “They stole Crawford’s entire herd and killed the foreman and his family.”

“That’s them,” Joe said. “Two posses went out four days and found nothing. Six grown ass men and four hundred heads of cattle and fourteen men couldn’t find anything. They got the Man in Black involved and it took him two days. By himself,” he added.

“I didn’t know that.” Ichabod hummed with interest. “Hopefully he is the man for the job. I wish Abigail to feel safe here.” He looked up at the second floor. Their room was the first door you reached after cresting the stairs. For a moment he wished to dash up to make certain his wife had not been kidnapped from the room or taken hostage by the remaining assailants.

His heart leapt into his throat when the door opened. Abbie poked her head out and put something covered with a towel outside the door, then quickly disappeared into the room again.

“Betsy,” Joe barked. “Room Four needs a swap out.”

“I am _not_ going near that room to hear--Oh!” Betsy came around the corner, looking incredibly irate. She smiled tersely. “Good morning Mister Crane, how pleasant to see you this morning. I had absolutely _no idea_ you were here. What brings you into town at this hour?”

“Myself and Abigail reside at the Golden Nugget until our home can be rebuilt, so she can be in the company of her sister,” Ichabod replied with a polite nod. 

“Fantastic,” Betsy said with clenched teeth. “I suppose I should see to my cleaning duties.” The curtsey she gave was really nothing more than motion meant to attract attention to the bounce of her bosom before she turned on her heel and flounced up stairs.

Ichabod looked at Joe. “Since when is emptying the privies her job?”

“Since she started complaining she couldn't get any customers last night because of you and the missus being so enthusiastic,” Joe smirked. “So I asked if she would like to take on some of the madam’s duties.”

Ichabod leaned in close. “The madam cleaned the privies?” he asked, his expression unconvinced. He tried and failed at envisioning Sophie touching anything resembling a chamberpot. 

Joe scoffed. “Absolutely not. You really think Sophie would do that stuff?”

Ichabod frowned in confusion. “Then-” He closed his mouth and shook his head. “This is none of my business,” he muttered, hiding his own smile as Betsy moved down the stairs carefully, chamberpot in hand and a dreadful expression upon her face. He shook his head and glanced back at Joe, who winked. “How much longer for my order? I’m sure my wife would like breakfast soon.”

“I’m sure you're eager to get her fueled up, am I right?” Joe teased.

Ichabod flushed and glanced away. “No need to be so vulgar,” he said.

Joe laughed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Every time you say _wife_ it makes me want to rib ya.” Ichabod’s expression soured. “Look, I’ve seen my fair share of newlyweds and each and every one like the sound of _husband_ or _wife_ in their mouths.”

“I do find myself searching for reasons and chances to say it,” Ichabod admitted.

“And you should,” Joe said, no longer teasing. “It’s obvious you’re over the moon for her, and I see her looking at you, too. Like you’re made of water and she’s had to crawl through the desert.”

“Truly?” Ichabod asked, his gaze again pulled to door number four. What Abbie could not know was that he was well and completely parched by the time he was able to press his lips to her cool, fragrant skin. 

And his thirst was nowhere near slaked. 

“Order,” a cantankerous voice bellowed. 

Joe held up a finger and disappeared to retrieve Ichabod’s food. A moment later he returned with a tray. “I'll let you take the tray because I know you're good for it,” Joe teased. “Just know I don't normally let folks take it.”

Ichabod bowed his head politely and picked up the tray. “I shall return it once done,” he vowed. 

He carefully balanced the tray with one hand and carefully eased up the stairs and opened the door. Immediately his eyes widened at the ocular feast before him and he felt everything pool into his groin. 

Abbie was bent over, digging in the trunk… wearing naught more than her stockings, garters, and silky underwear. His heart stammered and his wrists spasmed, sending their breakfast tray clamouring to the floor.

Ichabod smirked wickedly and shut the door behind him. He suddenly knew precisely what he was going to be eating for breakfast...

~*~

He had returned from ordering their breakfast and she had been in the process of getting dressed. She had been leaned over, digging through their trunk for her dress when he came in. Abbie had barely registered the sound of dishes and a tray falling to the floor before his big, strong hands were on her ass and his face was nuzzling the silk covering her centre.

Before she had even grown accustomed to what he had been doing, she was being scooped up by her husband and tossed onto the bed. When she scrambled around to watch him disrobe, the lustful look in his eyes caused her core to throb and she felt wet heat between her thighs.

She squealed and quickly rolled onto all fours to crawl across the bed away from him. This only seemed to encourage him and she felt his weight on the bed as he pursued her. 

“Come here, wife,” he rasped as he grasped her ankles and dragged her toward him. “Your husband is a very hungry man.”

Abbie shrieked and laughed, then lightly kicked hard enough to gain her freedom and hurried toward the other end of the bed.

“Ichabod! What about breakfast?” she giggled, brushing her hair from her face.

“I've seen my breakfast, I need only for my wife to take pity upon her starving husband and let me dine,” he growled, his eyes roaming over her body greedily.

Abbie squeezed her thighs together to sooth the forming ache. She shook away the heady sensation she experienced any time she was merely _near_ her very aroused husband. Abbie knew of one thing that _may_ delay his amorous advance. “Am I to go without food in my belly, then husband,” she asked, affecting feminine fragility.

Ichabod cocked a brow. “I'm certain we can find something to fill your belly as well, _wife_ ,” he purred then dived toward her.

He would not be deterred, and the thought _thrilled_ her. Abbie gasped and dodged his advance, scurrying across the bed on all fours. He easily caught up to her and gasped her about the waist, pulling her hips in line with his own. One of his hands slipped into her underwear and he murmured appreciatively, “You are absolutely sodden, my love.”

Her head fell forward as she rocked back against him. “How _dare_ you, Ichabod Crane,” she whimpered weakly. “This is not proper behavior and you are… are… are… oh… yes… right there, husband… Oh, you are a dirty scoundrel! A rakish seducer of women!” she moaned and laughed.

Abbie moaned even louder when his fingers stroked her bud; he teased and teased until her quivering thighs clamped around his hand but that did not stop his movements and after a moment she felt her walls clench and wetness pour from her. Her face warmed and she used the split second Ichabod took to put his fingers in his mouth to scuttle away once more.

“Where do you think you're going?” Ichabod said with a dark chuckle. “I haven't even begun to pleasure you, wife.”

Abbie swooned gently and fell face first into the bed. How could his voice alone make her so weak? She rolled over and scurried back until her back was against the headboard. “Ichabod Crane. I have told you and told you… _I am a lady_. And I demand to be treated as such!” She stuck her tongue out at him and grinned.

When he swiped at her Abbie ducked under his arm, briefly surprising him. Unfortunately her moment of insolence permitted his big hands to grasp her hips and yanked her back to him. 

She squeaked as she felt his finger drag her underwear to the side and he thrust into her with one sure stroke ripping a howl from between her lips as his thickness filled her from behind. Abbie spread her thighs and jutted her ass into the air to better accommodate him. 

Ichabod set a brutal rhythm as he took her, silk stalkings and all. Abbie felt her body go weak as pleasure shot through her thrust after thrust. 

She gripped the edge of bed to give herself something, anything to hold onto and keep her from spiraling away into space. “Oh God,” she sobbed. “Feels… so… good… don't stop, Ichabod.”

He made her feel like such a wanton woman as he elicited sounds she never would have imagined herself making in bed. She especially never imagined begging her husband to _not stop_. That certainly wasn't the behaviour of the married lady she planned to be.

It would have been quite the scandal in New York, but this was Salt River Falls, the wild west… far from the uptight society she had left behind. 

Far from Lucian and his influence.

Lady or not, she decided then and there, she was going to allow herself this one little sin of enjoying her duties in the marriage bed. With Ichabod. As Grace Abigail Crane. Wife of Ichabod Crane. 

Ichabod braced himself over her and leaned down enough to murmur in her ear. “Do you want to have release, my love?”

Abbie’s toes curled. “Yes!” she cried out. “Please, Ichabod, please… let me… oh god please.”

It wasn't long before she was gripping the edge of the bed again, her nails tearing the sheets as she screamed out his name. He yanked her back hard against him and her eyes rolled back as she choked on a moan. She felt his cock pulse and felt the heat of his release fill her.

Abbie fell limp with a weak groan of completion.

Ichabod placed feathery kisses between her shoulders then nuzzled her ear. “Perhaps it would prove wise to wear something easily removable today… I doubt we are finished,” he purred. He kissed her temple and gathered her protectively in his arms.

“I suspect you're right,” Abbie said with a deep laugh. Abbie reached behind her and patted the back of his head. “My wise husband, always thinking of the best ways to do things,” she replied, then promptly fell asleep.

~*~

Confound it all!

It seemed nothing was going to plan. 

Lucian figured he would bypass the nosy Pandora and get down to brass tacks, as it were. He went to the county assessor's office with the intent of paying the property tax on the Mills home - once word of his deeds reached her, Abbie would be on the next train home.

While she wouldn’t be returning to his arms immediately, Lucian knew he would get her to see the error of her ways after she understood her role in their relationship. If she failed to obey him Lucian could dangle the sale of her family residence until Abbie toed the line. It was a well thought out plan, save one unforseen thing.

Stanley Shane, the clerk he paid ten dollars a month to keep an eye on desirous properties, was confined to bed after having an unfortunate accident involving a tumble from a carriage in a fit of drunkenness. Lucian was forced to submit his inquiry with some unknown, vacant eyed clerk who barely gave him a passing glance when he asked for the amount due on the Mills property.   
He knew the Mills sisters were two years behind, which was a paltry eighteen hundred dollars. Lucian held his hand out and Andrew immediately handed him his bank book and checks. He was poised to write a check for twenty-seven hundred dollars when the clerk returned and told him no taxes were owed. 

“I beg your pardon,” Lucian said. 

The clerk sighed. “There are no taxes currently due on the address you requested.”

Lucian shook his head. “What do you mean? Just weeks ago there was a two year delinquency on that property. How is it gone?”

The clerk blinked. “It was paid,” he said as if he were speaking to someone of little intellect. 

Lucian took a deep breath and remembered his father’s words. _If small people must feel your temper have it be through others_. “Who paid and when?” he asked. 

The clerk hesitated.

“It’s public knowledge,” Lucian said smoothly, opening his cash purse and producing a five dollar bill. The clerk’s eyes immediately focused on the note with more clarity and enthusiasm Lucian had seen from him having since stepped up to his window. “No reason the information needs to be withheld from an upstanding citizen such as myself.

“I don’t believe we’ve had a chance to be introduced. I’m Lucian Moloch,” he said as he slid the bill across the ledge. “And you are?”

“Eric Kincaid.” The clerk blinked at the name. “Son of Mister Damon Moloch?” he asked, suitably impressed. 

“The one and only,” Lucian said. “The property belongs to… friends of the family and I wished to ensure nothing untoward happened while they get through an unfortunate time.”

Eric put his hand down over the bill and casually moved to check his pocket watch, sliding the bill into the pocket with the air of practiced ease.

Lucian’s smile widened. _Good._

“Of course,” Eric said. He stepped away and returned with two differently sized books. The larger he opened and turned around so Lucian could read. In very tight, neat scrawl the Mills property address was entered, and the amount paid - 

He squeezed his gloves in his left hand as hard as he could to keep the absolute _fury_ from showing. “There is no mention of who made the payment,” Lucian said stiffly.

Eric sat the smaller book on top - it was a record of receipts, and there was one for forty-five hundred dollars, paid by Jennifer M. Mills.

_Jennifer,_ Lucian grumbled to himself. Five years. Five years of taxes was more than what she owed him for her gambling debts. The _bitch_ had to have known he would look into things and posted the payment. How else could he be expected to view such action other than to say “I had your money but fuck you.”

Lucian produced another bill and placed it on the receipt book. “Thank you, Mister Kincaid. I admire your attention to detail. A man must take pride in his work, wouldn’t you agree?”

Eric looked at the bill on the book and nodded. “Good work is reward in and of itself,” he said, closing the bill within. “Especially when done for such illustrious families, in pursuit of the greater good.”

Lucian snapped his fingers and Andrew produced a small linen colored card and awkwardly reached around Lucian to hand it to the clerk through the window. “There is always work for men of a certain intellect,” he said as he put on his gloves. 

Eric’s eyes widened - a card from a distinguished member of society? His mother would sing his praises for the next year after he shoved this card in her face. She would think he was well on his way then! 

Lucian withdrew with a certain amount of satisfaction - he had an innate sense of knowing when he’d won. Though he had gotten some unfavorable information he had yet another man in a key position so all was not lost. 

His good mood soured just as soon as he had climbed into his carriage. Just what was it with women these days! It was a growing problem. Women taking up competitive boxing. Women stabbing gropers with hat pins. It was almost like they didn't care what men thought anymore. 

Now what was he going to use as leverage to get Abbie back? Was he really out of options?

Lucian sighed heavily, and Andrew glanced at him expectantly. “Take me to see that vile woman,” he said heavily, and simmered silently in disgusted ire as Andrew pulled the bell and communicated to the driver the change in destination. 

Too soon for Lucian’s taste they were in front of Pandora’s place of business - perhaps the best kept and worst kept secret in all of New York state. He stared out the window of the carriage at the perfectly mundane facade and fumed. Just like Pandora it appeared to be one thing on the outside but was completely different inside, like most women but she was the worst of the lot. Beyond the ebony doors was a playhouse that harboured dandies and mentally afflicted women, like Jenny, who tried to live as men. 

She even encouraged the back alley brawling of women! In the business clubs Lucian belonged to there were whispers of Pandora’s legendary selectiveness - to be _one of her girls_ was a mystifying paradox of scandal and privilege, mostly culled from the families of men that owed her large and specific types of debts. She turned them into highly skilled and sought after entertainers, boxers, mistresses… various types of artisans. 

It was rumored that some she even trained as spies.

Lucian gestured and Andrew immediately rang the bell again; the footman scrambled down from his perch next to the driver to release the foot ladder and open the door. Andrew exited before him and hurried up the steps to have the door open as Lucian crested the landing. The temperature immediately dropped to a cool and pleasant degree as he moved further in, Andrew closing the door behind them. 

As Lucian moved further into the entry hall he gazed over the photographs on the walls. The subjects were varied - stately gardens, a group of women sitting demurely for a photographer in little more than lacy smallclothes, two women in a ring with their hands taped and breasts bared as they sized each other up. 

Nearby he could hear the sound of glasses knocked against each other and his mouth flattened into a thin line. Pandora knew he was here, and she knew _he_ knew and was purposefully pretending otherwise. Lucian squared his shoulders and entered the large room off the foyer and his eyes fell to the woman at the bar as she delicately cleaned a wine glass. 

“Oh!” Pandora lifted a hand over her mouth as she feigned surprise. “I wondered when you would come,” she purred, holding up the glass to inspect it for spots. “I knew you would.”

Lucian stepped up to the bar and took a seat, taking the time to settle his coat tails and remove his gloves before he acknowledged her. He happened to glance up and his mind blanked as if struck. Just behind Pandora, displayed prominently, was a sketch of a daintily masked woman. It was impossible to deny it was anyone but Abbie. _His_ Abbie, in little more than a corset and bloomers poised to fight with her small hands wrapped with gauze. The sketch had the words “Come See the Destroyer!” bombastically drawn along the top. 

An advert for the women's boxing. 

Lucian cleared his throat and tore his eyes away. Of course Pandora displayed it just to rile him up. To remind him that there were so many things Abbie did without his knowledge or consent. To tempt and goad him into an emotional reaction. It wouldn’t work - real men are beyond such things like letting emotion cloud logic; that was the failing of women. None of this mattered because Abbie would have a whole list of things she would not be doing once he had her home. Anything and everything before that was just unimportant.

Pandora turned and placed the glass on the shelf next to the sketch. She sighed dramatically as she gazed at it adoringly. “It's such a shame she's gone,” Pandora said. 

“Oh?” Lucian asked flatly. 

“Such a fierce and elegant fighter. Both in and out of the ring.” She wretched her head towards him and hmphed. “Until you sent her to waste away as some _man's_ wife.”

“What would you have me do, Pandora? I am a businessman - a reasonable one at that. I was more than generous with my repayment plan.”

Pandora smirked. “Of course you were.”

“I offered to wipe Jennifer’s debt clean,” Lucian stated. “I consider that _very_ generous considering she had raked up almost four thousand dollars at my tables.” His smile grew as Pandora blanched at the total. “I even kept her line of credit open at the tables far longer than I normally do. I only beat her once to remind her she owed me money.”

Pandora angrily grabbed the cleaning cloth and rubbed at imaginary spots on a glass. “Just the once? You _were_ lenient,” she muttered. Pandora hadn’t known the amount was so high - Abbie refused to tell her so she hadn’t pried. _Jennifer Mills I could kill you_. In the long run, it wasn’t much from her pockets but it was still a ridiculous amount of losses on Jenny’s part.

“After being exceedingly generous and kind, after showing Abbie that I understood Jennifer is family… She still refused to wed me. You know what that meant.”

Pandora squeezed the glass in her hand until it hurt. As the eldest Mills it fell to Abbie to ensure the family’s debts were paid. Any outstanding balances called in would be her responsibility unless she was married. 

Rock and a hard place, indeed. 

And the famed Mills stubborn pride refused to let Pandora give her the money and be done with it. 

_”It’s nothing,” Pandora murmured soothingly, tucking Abbie’s hair behind her ear._

_“You don’t know the amount,” Abbie said, carefully stitching the last rose on the wrist of a dress hung on a mannequin in front of her. She was working diligently to finish Madame Pomroy’s dress in time for her annual autumn ball and had been working almost two days straight._

_“Because you won’t tell me,” Pandora said. “But daughter, you know what I make on a bad night. Surely it can’t be more than that.”_

_Abbie sighed and finally looked up at her. Pandora looked at the signs of exhaustion on Abbie’s normally breathtakingly beautiful face and felt something like fury stir in her chest. “Mother, you know I love you, but your money comes with strings of its own. I will fix this on my own.”_

“I do,” Pandora said coldly. 

“I could press charges,” Lucian said easily. “Abbie has not married the man who sent for her, which was the agreement she signed. That means I have been forced to recoup what is owed from Jennifer. 

“Imagine my surprise when I was told she has decided to flee west, but not before she took _my_ money to spit in the face of my generosity.” Lucian glared at the woman behind the counter. 

“What do you mean?” Pandora asked, barely able to contain the smile that wanted to twist her lips.

“You’re to stand there and pretend you didn’t know?” he growled. “The almighty Pandora?”

“You’ve come to accuse me of what, Lucian Moloch?” she leaned closer, smirking as Lucian’s eyes immediately dropped to her cleavage. “I’m bored,” she said as she moved away. “I am a busy woman, I do not have time for the games of children.”

_Stupid woman._ “I need to know everything about Jennifer’s last visit to you,” he said.

Pandora laughed. “I can’t tell whether you’re brave or just stupid. You of all people should know information is money.” 

“I am a very pow--”

“Power hungry man, yes, I know,” Pandora stated briskly. “Aren't you all? It's not enough that you force natives off their lands, break treaties, sell women and other human beings like cattle. You still want more. Such greedy and filthy creatures.

“If men like you or your father were even half as powerful as my beloved had been, you wouldn't need to beg for scraps of information about my precious _napalutu_.” She chuckled when he scowled. “That's what you really want to know, isn't it? I don’t care how much money Jenny owed you--I’m not foolish enough to think you want information about her.”

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

Pandora shook her head. “Stupidity and cowardice is never a good mix, especially in a man. At least a smart coward knows when he’s reaching beyond his grasp, ” she said pointedly.

“Damn it, woman,” he barked, slamming his hand down on the bar. “Name your price.” He threw his checkbook down. “As my father always said, everyone has a price. Even, or maybe _especially_ , someone like you.” 

Pandora stared at where Lucian’s fingers tapped a check waiting to be filled out. Yes, now she’s starting to remember why she revoked his membership. Pity she did it privately - she should’ve banished him and embarrassed him publicly. “You think I would forsake the trust of my daughters for _money_? When you stole away my protege? I had men _clamouring_ to find out who Abbie was so they could propose. Men were willing to pay good money to get punched in the face by my dainty little lady, but I wouldn't dare ask it of her. 

“These were men who spent a many coin at my counters. She was so far above them. Just as she is far above you. She is perfection, Lucian. _Perfection_. And you dared to try and break her.” Her hand lashed out, making Lucian flinch before she grabbed his neck, her nails digging into his flesh as she almost pulled him across the counter. “And now you have the nerve-- _the audacity_ \--to come into my den and make me betray my little lady? For your pitiful coins?”

He stalled Andrew’s approach with a gesture before he batted at Pandora’s hand. “ _She is no lady_ ,” Lucian snarled.

The woman across from him cocked a brow. “Oh but she is; a perfect, ruthless lady. Or had someone else beat you into a corner like the dog you are? Was it someone other than her that shamed you?” She released him and smiled slowly. “Your shame is healing beautifully, by the way, but people will still know you wronged my daughter.” Pandora reached across the counter, laughing when he flinched. With exaggerated care she fluttered her fingers above the scars on his face. “She made me so proud that day.”

His eyes flickered to a mirror and was forced to see the burn marks that made him cover the mirrors in his manor. Thick scar tissue sat thickly over his left cheekbone and obscured most of his left eye, permanently maring his once handsome features. 

If Lucian had known how far Pandora’s poison ran within Abbie he would have made her cut ties with the madam far sooner. If he had known Abbie was more than just one of Pandora’s daughters--her chosen _heir_ \-- he may have never dared to even think of trying to acquire her. 

Maybe he should let her go now. Cut his losses. With Jenny gone no one would know how much money she owed him while still alive and unharmed. There would be no threat to his reputation or his various enterprises. He could move on and find someone who was more compliant, more subservient, someone who would bend to his will without so much kicking and screaming and defiance. His cold heart ached at the thought of not having Abbie.

Lucian caught a glimpse of his _shame_ again and could practically see Damon Moloch standing behind him. “ _Is that what I taught you, boy? Is your name Moloch?_ ”

Lucian closed the checkbook. “What do you want,” he asked. “If you don't want money, then what _do_ you want?”

Pandora's mouth twisted into a wicked grin. She leaned close enough to whisper her demand in his ear. When she released him, Lucian smoothed down his coat and shirt.

“How dare you demand that of me you _wretched woman_ ,” Lucian bellowed. She held up a hand and Andrew stopped again, to Lucian’s chagrin. “It will be a cold day in hell before I yield to that demand!”

He moved away from the bar and paced back and forth restlessly. His fingers scrubbed through his hair. When he looked at Pandora all he could see was satisfaction. Lucian longed to knock her down to an appropriate peg; he could practically _taste_ how gratifying it would feel to see her act appropriately for once. _Just once_!

With distaste he reconsidered her proposal; how could he agree - Oh.

_Oh_.

Who said he had to do anything more than merely agree? One could not be held responsible for keeping their word when circumstances weren’t so much an agreement but _coercion_. Honor had no place in circles inhabited by wanton women and others who need to be brought to heel. 

He was practically doing his civil duty! 

Lucian glanced around the room. There were only three tables across the room occupied at this time of day; one was just a man who, from the soft snores emanating from his person and the half a bottle of bourbon on the table in front of him, was in a deep, drunken stupor. Another table had two men who appeared to be having a clandestine conversation of their own - their hats were tugged low and scarves pulled high to obscure identities as they spoke quietly to each other. 

The third table held two other men facing away from the bar to the currently empty stage - they hadn’t turned back to the bar since he entered and even if Lucian squinted he could barely make out more than a vague outline of the men outside of the drunk. These men hadn’t come to see, they’d come _not to be seen_ for reasons of their own.

Lucian felt bolstered. Not a single witness to anything said save Andrew, who does not count. Lucian composed himself. “Fine.”

Pandora blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You have a deal,” he said. “Tell me what you know about Abbie.”

Pandora held out her hand and Lucian almost laughed; had she really thought he as to shake it with a gentleman's acceptance of terms? Such an action would not be binding - _she was no gentleman_!

On a lark, Lucian settled his hand in hers and she grasped his wrist firmly. When he struggled against her hold, she proved herself the stronger by holding steady and drawing his hand close enough to jab it with a hat pin.

“You're insane!” Lucian snarled. “Unhand me!”

“You're in _my den_ , Lucian. You, nor any man, has any authority here,” Pandora intoned, using her free hand to place a sheet of parchment under his hand. She let his wound bleed onto the paper then pushed his fingers into the blood and pressed the pads of his fingers to a clear portion of the parchment. When she released his hand she offered him a pen. “Sign.”

Lucian growled and huffed but snatched the pen away and scrawled his name on the parchment. “Now, what do you know?”

“Abbie secured the payment of her taxes prior to her departure,” Pandora said. 

“You lie,” Lucian spat. “I’ve been watching her taxes for months.”

Pandora raised an eyebrow. “If she hadn’t I would’ve found a way to pay them; I wouldn't dare permit my daughter’s childhood home be taken by scum such as you.” She paused and chuckled to herself. “And as for Jennifer, Abbie sent for her to come West.”

Lucian glared and waited for half a breath. “And,” he demanded, as she turned away.

“That's all I know of Jennifer's departure,” Pandora shrugged. “As you know the Mills sisters are notoriously tight lipped about each other. I'm sorry if that's not what you wished for, but it is _all_ I know. And that is what you asked for.” She cocked her head. “A deal is a deal, Lucian,” she said as she shook the parchment gently. “If you go to fetch Abbie and she returns with you for _any_ reason, she is to be brought home to her Mother. I have missed her presence, as have her future children.” 

She retrieved her shawl from a hook on the wall and whirled it around her shoulders. “If you will excuse me…”

“I will _not_ excuse you,” Lucian hissed. “There must be more! Why has she not returned if she hasn’t married? How could she afford to send for Jennifer so quickly? How did she get the money to - Pandora! You will tell me what else you know. Pandora. _Pandora_... You will--”

Lucian watched Pandora turn the corner behind the bar. When he rushed to the other side she was gone, as if she had just disappeared into thin air. The fury returned, hot and thick in his chest; he had to undo _two_ entire buttons so he could breathe. “I did not dismiss you,” he said to the darkness tightly. He could feel the spectre of his father looming behind him “I _did not_ dismiss her!” Out of what looked to be empty shadows a very large man stepped forward on impossibly light feet, causing Lucian to stumble back half a step.

“She's not yours to dismiss, boy,” the man gruffed. “Let me show you the door.”

Lucian straightened as the man approached. “I will show myself out,” he sneered as he tugged on his gloves. As he passed Andrew he threw his checkbook at him as he stalked away imperiously, forcing Andrew to hastily move items from his path, creating a wake of displaced tables and chairs behind him.

Pandora stepped out of the dark stairwell, her laugh soft and shallow. The damage had been done and she made her move. Now there could be no denying who the most powerful person in Sleepy Hollow was.

_It is me, beloved_ , she thought joyously. _I will finish what we started_. 

It was only a matter of time before Lucian's dwindling grasp of power was gone. But as much as she had schemed and planned, Pandora knew she wouldn't have gotten this far alone. It was Abbie who unmanned Lucian bit by bit, culminating in what allowed Pandora to prove Lucian to be nothing more than a temperamental, overgrown, _ineffectual_ child that couldn't even get simple information from a woman.

She retrieved her favorite crystal decanter from behind the bar and lifted it to the shadowy figures on the far side of the room. When the stage wasn’t in use and a curtain of specific material was down, people in front of the stage could hear whispers as loud as day from people at the bar. 

If Pandora lowered a completely different curtain over the unused stage then whomever is behind the bar would be privy to any and every sound made by those who sat in front of the stage. 

Well it seemed Pandora had used the wrong curtain for her visit with Lucian Moloch; those very important and influential men had to have overheard every pathetic thing out of that sad excuse for man’s mouth. 

“Oh no,” Pandora murmured and turned to Maurice who stood at attention. “I don’t wish to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency,” she said firmly before she swept away to her office. Once she closed and locked the door behind her she went to her desk and poured herself a drink before she opened a drawer and removed a little yellow telegram she had received not too long ago. 

_Napalutu married the elder brother. Things are good for her - J_

Pandora smirked and set it back down on her desk. Oh how she loved when things worked in her favor without her even trying. She sat down and took a long, slow sip, savoring the sweetness on her tongue before swallowing. No matter how one turned it, Pandora would win. 

Lucian convinced Abbie to return East with him? Pandora would be waiting at the train station to take her home.

Lucian failed to get Abbie on the train? He’d never see his money. He would be forced to return to Sleepy Hollow having been defeated.

By a black woman, at that. 

Lucian would have to watch in horror as what influence he had left hemorrhage away, knowing not only would there be _nothing_ he could do to stop it, but there would be no chance of recovery, either.

And Abbie would never be his.

Pandora leaned back and spun her chair in delight. All that mattered was that her favorite daughter was happy and well taken care of. In the end, that was all a Mother ever wanted.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr and Mrs Crane put their whole hearts into baby making. The Destroyer gets her identity revealed. Bram is still creepy af. The town librarian has a gift for the happy couple. Pandora laments for her Napalutu. Oh, and there's a hot spring.
> 
> ~*~

How was this her life now?

Who had she pleased to deserve being treated so?

Abbie felt _good_ , oh so good. A big smile was plastered on her face as she moaned and sighed. She was lain upon her side, knees curled toward her belly, as Ichabod pumped himself into her body with almost agonizingly slow and deep strokes.

This much pleasure wasn't something she was accustomed to. But her husband was certainly trying his best to spoil her rotten. “Ichabod,” she whimpered softly, her back arching when he thrust deep and ground against her. She keened and she swore she could feel him all the way into her throat.

But that was silly. Despite his size, she knew there was no physical way for his cock to be in her throat. She giggled at the thought, her toes curling and unfurling from pleasure. 

Ichabod slipped a hand between her thighs and entwined his fingers with hers. “Abbie,” he groaned, peppering her arm and shoulder with kisses. He shifted so he was tucked behind her without breaking his grasp on her hand.

Her husband set a brutal pace, causing her face to contort as he hit the right spot over and over again. It wasn't long before she was keening and pulsing around his thick shaft. He pressed deep and held fast as he pumped his seed into her with a strained grunt.

“Oh _God,_ ” Abbie groaned. That sound was one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard, accompanied by one of her favorite feelings in the world.

She was grateful they had both spoken about and agreed upon wanting children. There was no doubt in her mind that her husband had accomplished that many times over. In nine months time, she was gonna birth no less than seven children! At least!

When he withdrew she could feel the thick, sticky evidence of their coupling between her thighs. Abbie clamped her legs together and crossed her ankles to squeeze tightly. 

“What are you doing?” Ichabod asked with mirth in his voice.

“Can’t have it all leak out,” she whispered, shifting enough to put a pillow under her hips so they were higher than the rest of her. “So we can have a baby.” Abbie watched him rest his huge hand on her lower belly, an awed look on his face. 

“You are still amenable?”

Abbie looked at him curiously. “You thought I would change my mind?” she asked. 

Ichabod’s face and neck flushed a fetching red as he ducked his face. “I considered you might,” he admitted. 

“You would let me make that choice?” Abbie couldn’t keep the incredulity hidden. 

It was Ichabod’s turn to be confused. “How would it be my choice?” he asked.

Abbie just looked at him before she let her head fall back against the mattress. She didn’t know what to say. Just when she thought she was getting used to her husband’s unique views he would say or do something to knock her asunder. Tears sprang to her eyes. She was happy. So happy at that very moment. Lucian hadn't wanted children - or as he called them, squabbling brats. Which was fine and dandy cause she hadn't wanted children with him anyway.

“I said something wrong, treasure?” Ichabod asked, eyes wide with attentive concern.

Abbie shook her head quickly, still not quite able to speak. She remembered on the third letter from “Bram” where Ichabod had mentioned longing for the thunder of tiny feet running through the house. If she were truly honest with herself it was then Abbie had first considered children as a grown woman. Her heart had soared at the thought of having children with the kind man in New Mexico that was waiting for her.

Her own father had been a kind, upstanding gentleman. Someone who made her feel safe and loved so Abbie substituted someone roughly like him into the shadowy place reserved for her future husband when she pictured someone as they gazed at beautiful sunsets and described the vibrant colors in elegantly sprawled handwritten letters. 

Abbie squeaked when Ichabod placed a kiss on her belly, bringing her out of her inadvertent and unexpected reverie. “Hello future son or daughter,” he murmured. “Let us hope and pray you are already comfortably in there.” Another kiss just below her navel. “And pardon my intrusions but your mother is stunningly beautiful and intelligent. Absolutely irresistible. I cannot resist her charms, completely unable.”

A laugh erupted from Abbie's lips but inside she was hugging herself as she almost sobbed at how silly and sweet her husband was. His eyes went to hers and his expression grew somber again. “Abigail, as much as children would make me… _beyond_ happy, I could only be happy if it that is also something you want, too. That _is_ something you still want? Children that is. I often fear I put you in quite the spot when mentioning it in front of Ashley and Jennifer.”

Abbie ran her fingers through Ichabod's hair. “I want to have _your_ children,” she said softly. 

Ichabod’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?” he asked again.

Abbie laughed. “Yes,” she affirmed. “I had wanted children when I was younger - I doted heavily on Jenny when she was a baby even though Mama told me I was just a little girl myself. She wanted me to stop trying to take care of Jenny and go play with my toys. But toys can’t possibly compare to a new baby sister!” Ichabod snuggled closer as she continued, his hand still resting on her abdomen. 

“Time marched on and I grew up, but I still wanted to be a mother. But then - “ Abbie shifted and cleared her throat. No need to act as if the man would just appear from speaking his name aloud. _Stop giving him power over you_ , Mother said from the recesses of her mind. 

“If you don’t wish to continue you - “

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “As it happened I got involved with a man who at first stated he didn't want them. Since I thought I wanted to make him happy I told myself that wasn’t my destiny. Honestly, after a while his behavior made me realize that perhaps I was better off; I could never see myself having children with him. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t even imagine it.”

“Lucian Moloch?” Ichabod asked softly. Abbie nodded. “I don’t wish to pry, and I won’t,” he said. “I just want you to know that I am… aware you had difficulties in Sleepy Hollow that stemmed from your relationship with that man, and I use the terms _relationship_ and _man_ loosely.” Abbie barked a surprised laugh. “I would never presume to force you to speak of what befell you but know that I am willing to listen and give you comfort if you should ever wish to.”

“I don’t want to.” Abbie shook her head. “At least not yet,” she muttered.

Ichabod felt the downward spiral of her mood and hated the man he’d never met even more. He reached for Abbie’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. When he continued to give little butterfly kisses to the tips of her graceful fingers Ichabod was rudely interrupted when Abbie’s stomach gurgled loudly, making her laugh. 

“That might be the most unlady-like thing I’ve done yet,” she said ruefully. 

Ichabod rose on to his elbow so he could look down at Abbie properly. “My lovely wife, everything you do is lady-like because you are a lady through and through,” he vowed.

Abbie felt her face warm and she glanced away, unable to sustain contact under the force of Ichabod’s gaze. “Well I’m glad you think so; if you recall I haven't eaten since dinner last night. I'm liable to go faint if I don't get something soon.”

Ichabod wanted to object but realized she was right. Good god, things like _food and drink_ seemed so inconsequential every time Abbie came into his view. He must have looked strange since Abbie laughed and rose to kiss him on the chin before falling back to the bed. 

“I’ve tried but I can’t sustain myself on your affections alone. Lord knows I tried,” Abbie said to herself as Ichabod let her roll away. Abbie sat up and stretched, enjoying the burn of well used muscles. Her hands fell down with pleasant lethargy and she felt the marks that were mirror to her husband’s hands that spanned her hips easily. 

No longer wrapped up in Ichabod and what he was making her body feel, Abbie could hear the distant din that were the patrons of the Golden Nugget. She and Ichabod would have to dress and make an appearance downstairs for the sake of propriety at least. It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d even _glimpsed_ her own sister and if they were still in Sleepy Hollow that would be cause for four types of alarm. 

Jenny would probably want them to eat dinner downstairs. Ichabod would probably be pulled away - albeit reluctantly - by Calvin or Luke or even Bram for business reasons or to handle ranch stuff. 

Abbie grimaced and really debated if she needed food or if she could request a few apples and a knife be brought to the room. She watched Ichabod climb off the bed and stretch as well, and she watched the play of whipcord like muscle beneath in skin. His surprisingly broad back that tapered into an impossibly narrow waist and a frankly surprisingly filled out bottom for a white man. 

Abbie fanned herself as she remembered holding on to that bottom for dear life as Ichabod drove into her again and again and - “What?” she asked as she pushed her hair off of her face. 

When did it get so hot?

She caught Ichabod’s knowing smile before it disappeared beneath his shirt as he pulled it on. “I need you to put clothes on,” he said, and Abbie had to bite her lip as her nipples tightened under his gaze. She knew if she just laid back and spread her legs invitingly they wouldn’t go anywhere for the rest of the night, food be damned. 

Abbie screeched and laughed as a bundle of fabric hit her in the face. She pulled it away and realized it was one of her dresses. 

“If I didn’t do something drastic we would never leave this room,” Ichabod said, echoing her very thoughts. “I could see it in your eyes.”

Abbie wanted to suggest that very thing when her stomach growled loudly again and she began to be aware of a headache growing in intensity. “You’re right,” she admitted ruefully as she watched Ichabod quickly pull on his underwear, pants, and socks. He grabbed his jacket and his boots and headed to the door. “Where are you going?” she asked, standing immediately.

Apparently she did so faster than her body was ready because the room swam just enough to force her to sit just as quick. In an instant Ichabod was before her, kneeling in concern. “Abigail,” he said, pushing back her hair so he could check her face.

Abbie chuckled as she batted his hands away. “I’m fine,” she reassured him. “It happens when I forget or skip meals.” She took a deep breath and smiled as she grabbed his hands to keep his fingers from fluttering away. “I’m fine,” she said again, softly, before she tugged Ichabod close enough to give him a _practically_ chaste kiss. “And while you go get us a table and order I can clean up, get dressed, and join you.” 

Ichabod hesitated. “Do you… need help getting dressed?” 

Abbie laughed at his overly innocent tone. “Uh huh,” she said. “And if you did spend an insubordinate amount of time making sure my breasts were sufficiently in my stay, that’s just you being helpful?”

Ichabod looked affronted. “Of course!”

“And if you spent considerable attention fondling my bottom, that’s just you helping me adjust my bustle.”

Ichabod’s grin turned sly. “My wife is as astute as she is beautiful,” he rumbled.

Abbie’s core clenched at the sound and she pushed him away. “Get out,” she laughed, holding the dress to her body not to hide but to occupy her hands so she wouldn’t reach for her husband again. With a wistful sigh he tugged on his boots and grabbed his jacket and hat from the table where he had thrown them much, _much_ earlier in the day, and Abbie didn’t move, didn’t even breathe until the door closed behind him.

She fell backwards with a gasp and resolutely did not squeeze her thighs together. “My man,” Abbie sighed happily as she stared up at the ceiling, allowing herself to bask just a moment before rushing to complete her ablutions. 

~*~

Jenny always had a sixth sense when it came to her sister, so as soon as Abbie’s foot hit the last stair Jenny turned like a magnet to true north. She watched as Abbie seemed to be walking very carefully, and when Ichabod saw her and stood Jenny laughed in understanding. 

“You’re not laughing at me,” Yolanda pouted. 

Jenny grabbed what was left of her drink and knocked it back. “You weren’t telling a joke,” she said. “I’ll catch you later,” she said.

Yolanda turned to follow Jenny’s gaze and rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother, she’s married,” she muttered, angling her body in a way she knew displayed her considerable assets in a good light. “Whereas I am a sure thing.”

Jenny pulled a small purple feather from her hat and stepped closer to Yolanda, well within her personal space. “I’m sure you are,” Jenny purred, lightly brushing the feather over the inviting swells of her breasts. Jenny then leaned in even further, close enough to feel Yolanda’s hummingbird like breath against her lips. “So I’ll know where to find you after I visit with my _sister_.” 

Yolanda flushed at the hard tone Jenny used to correct her assumptions. “Right,” she said breathlessly, squirming under the still moving feather. “Family is important.”

Jenny grinned and gave her a deep but short kiss. “Glad you agree,” she murmured before she reached around and grabbed her hat. With a wink Jenny put it on as she moved away. 

“Hot damn,” Yolanda muttered as she watched, mesmerized by the sway of Jenny’s hips. When Joe whistled behind her Yolanda jumped and turned to glare at him.

“You could say that again,” he said. When he realized Yolanda was glaring at him he shrugged. “What? I’m not blind,” he said. 

Jenny made it to the table just in time to see Abbie as carefully took a seat next to her husband. She exchanged a loaded look with an equally tickled Ash before they both burst into riotous laughter. “It's about time you joined us,” she teased as she pulled out the remaining free chair. “I thought maybe you two had fallen into a hole or something.”

“To be fair, I'm pretty sure Ichabod fell into one. Repeatedly,” Ash retorted, laughing at Jenny’s loud cackle.

Abbie felt her face warm and she sputtered incoherently for a moment before Ichabod lightly scolded, “There's no need to be so vulgar. Either of you.”

With a little huff, Abbie tried to adjust her position in the chair. The gesture turned out to be a huge mistake because, in her moment of righteous indignation, her thighs parted and she felt _a stickiness_ begin what felt like a worrying exodus. She paused, swallowed hard, and quickly re-shifted her position so she could comfortably clamp her legs together once more.

She made a mental note that, after food, she definitely needed something more substantial than the short basin and pitcher; she would need to procure a bath. That wicked little part of her brain had developed a fondness for her husband's person, immediately started wondering if said bath would accommodate him as well. Her eyes closed and she smiled as she envisioned herself bouncing on Ichabod’s lap, him buried inside of her as water sloshed to the floor.

“I know it must feel all kinds of strange to sit down without a dick in ya,” Jenny said, her face full of faux concern. 

Abbie’s eyes popped open as her face burned with embarrassment. “Jenny!”

“What? I'm glad your man finally put you out of your misery.”

Abbie groaned, and very barely resisted slipping beneath the table to die from embarrassment. “Must you?” she hissed imploringly. It was bad enough Ash had made a crude comment, but now she had Jenny blatantly speaking of her husband's… anatomical features.

Jenny put her elbows on the table as she leaned forward to grin at her sister, and did an excellent imitation of the haughty little shoulder shrug Abbie would do at times. She jutted her nose in the air and daintily said, “You're a lady. Well, I'm _not._ ” She then stuck her tongue out at Abbie.

Ichabod scooted Abbie's seat closer to the table and kissed her cheek before claiming the seat next to her. “Ah, but you are in _the presence_ of a lady, and a gentleman always minds his language in front of a lady,” he pointed out.

Jenny shrugged indifferently as Ash sat next to her. “She's just Abbie. Rules are different around family.”

Ash snorted lightly. “Ichabod here likes to act like he never swears or anything. But I can tell ya, get him mad enough…” Abbie stiffened as she tried to hide her horror at Ash's statement. Immediately he began to shake his head as his smile faded. “Little sister, I can honestly say I've only seen him that angry twice, and once was when they brought him to Rose Manor to see the dining room after his parents were murdered.”

Abbie swallowed hard and nodded. That would be understandable. “And the other time?” she asked warily.

She looked at Ichabod as he ducked his head and his face flushed pink. “I was bathing in the river and Katrina decided she needed to relocate all of my clothes.”

Abbie blinked for a moment as she processed the tale, then burst into giggles.

“There's nothing funnier than a naked, angry white man chasing a horse that's stolen his clothes,” Ash chuckled. He flailed his arms dramatically then imitated Ichabod’s accent horribly. “Get back 'ere y’ stupid bloody horse before I sell you to a Frenchman for his dinner!” He wiped a tear from his eye and sighed as he laughed. “It was all anyone could talk about for months.”

“And Katrina looked _absolutely pleased_ with herself the entire time,” Ichabod added. “Trotting along the way, just fast enough that I couldn't catch her.”

“You're gonna leave out the best part?” Ash laughed. 

“No!” Jenny fidgeted in her seat eagerly. “You can't leave out the best part!” She turned to Ash. “What's the best part? Tell us the best part.”

Ash grinned brightly. “Do you want to tell it, brother, or do I have to tell it.”

Ichabod closed his eyes and sighed. “For the record, it is the _worst_ part of the tale, thank you. But, as I was still relatively unfamiliar with the area due to being gone for my studies, I had not realized Katrina was trotting off into town until it was too late. She dropped my clothing in front of a group of-”

“Tell me they were little old ladies,” Jenny begged as she tugged on Ash’s sleeve. 

Ichabod closed his eyes and sighed. “- little old ladies as they were leaving their Bible studies.” He winced at Jenny’s whoop and cackle.

“So my brother isn't a shy man so he didn't bother covering anything,” Ash added cheekily. “There’s Ichabod in nothing more than his boots and his cowboy hat.”

“Katrina didn't take your hat?” Abbie asked.

Ichabod opened his eyes and shook his head. “No, it was on my head while I was in the river. Didn't want to have my face get sunburnt. Why do you ask?” he asked curiously. 

Abbie cocked her head incredulously. “So why didn't you use your hat for modesty when you stood before the church ladies?” 

Ichabod considered her suggestion for a long moment then blushed as he ducked his head bashfully. “I… Honestly? It didn't cross my mind at the time.”

“Probably wouldn’t have helped much, anyway,” Abbie muttered, patting his thigh delicately. He squirmed in his seat and entwined his fingers with hers.

Jenny’s eyes widened at the implication, her eyes darting down to Ichabod’s lap and back up before she leered at her sister. She folded her arms and rested her elbows on the table. “So, my dear brother-in-law,” she chimed. Abbie closed her eyes and expected the worst. “Ash says you tend to throw money at things this town needs. That you helped fund building the new church and got the library started…”

Abbie opened her eyes and stared hard at Jenny. “Jenny, before you continue, is this one of your gambling schemes 'cause I'm not gonna let you blow through my husband's money. Not after what happened last time.”

Jenny gawked in mock offense. “My own sister. Just throwing me outta the wagon like that,” she said with a grin. “Don't worry Abbie, it's nothing big. I learned my lesson last time. Besides, not like things didn't work out for you in the end anyway Miss Mail Order Bride. So don't worry. 

“It's just… I noticed there's not much for fun around here,” Jenny shrugged. “I was gonna suggest a playhouse. I mean, I ran it over with Joe last night while we were all in my suite. He thought it sounded fantastic. It would be anything as extravagant as Pandora's Box but...

“The ladies here at the Golden Nugget could be the actresses. Because let's face it, scarlet ladies are _the best_ actresses. I mean they fake things all the time. All we'd need is a small stage and some props. Bam. Playhouse.” Jenny gave Ichabod a bright grin. “What do you think? With the library we'd have access to plays and all so we could make it proper shows and, Shakespeare and everything. And we got one the best damn seamstresses the New York area had for costumes.”

Ichabod processed for a moment then nodded. “That is a fantastic idea,” he replied. “Talk it over with young Mister Corbin and let me know if he would like to move forward with the idea.” He brought Abbie's hand to his lips and kissed it. Jenny had to fight a grin at seeing Abbie smile at her husband. “If Abbie has time to do the costuming, with her own business to run.”

Jenny blinked in surprise. “Really?” She narrowed her eyes. “That was way too easy. What's the catch?”

“No catch, I assure you,” Ichabod stated. “If it would grant you comfort and keep you nearby for your sister, then it would not be money misspent.” 

Abbie’s smile widened as Ichabod kissed her fingers. Her heart fluttered when he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in existence. _Good lord, she still hadn’t eaten yet but wanted him again already._

It wasn't enough that they had made love most of the night, most of the morning, and _twice_ during their earliest attempts of getting dressed for lunch - once atop the trunk and then against the door, and again in the bed before drowsing and going again before their bodies submitted loud complaints.

Heavens, her husband was insatiable. Not that she was much better, not even thinking of objecting to his affections.

“You… want me near Abbie?” Jenny asked. 

Ichabod’s smile falters in the face of Jenny’s skepticism. “Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Jenny looks at Abbie while she continued speaking to Ichabod. “You don't want to keep her holed away from the world and disallow her from talking to anyone?”

Abbie pinched the bridge of her nose and prayed for strength. “I admitted it long ago Jenny.”

Jenny’s smile turned sweet as fresh molasses. “Admitted what, dear sister of mine?” 

Abbie glared. “No need to keep reminding me that I made bad, naïve, and silly choices. I heard it enough from Mother, I don't need you continuing the tradition.” She shifted in her seat, her face warming when she felt another sudden rush of _something_ between her legs. “So has our order been taken or should I tend to that myself? I'm famished.”

As if that was his cue, Joe appeared with a tray laden with plates. He placed one before each of them. “Anything else I can get for you fine people?”

Abbie beamed up at him. “How can I arrange for a hot bath in suite?”

Joe grinned almost wickedly. “Telling Betsy it's part of the madams duties,” he cackled. Both Jenny and Ash sputtered and laughed.

“That woman ain't never gonna be a madam,” Ash drawled. “Her balls ain't big enough. Now Sophie… She had some massive _cojones_. Is that the right word?” Jenny nodded. 

“Yeah, but why are you using it?” she asked. 

“Because this band of dirty cowboys rolled through once. Like, eight or nine of them. All tall as me and Ichabod, all ugly, all dirty. None of them had any manners and or knew how to behave, that much was clear right off the bat. One of them really was thick headed, and smacked one of the girls. Sophie saw and walked around the asshole to step up to the boss, even though he was a foot taller than that guy and just… grabbed him by the nuts and berries. Made him bend down to hear what she had to say.

“Whatever it was it was Sophie said had all the men, _all_ the men were suddenly on their best behavior and remained that way until they left. Apparently a few of them didn’t like the idea of a woman telling them what to do, so they waited until Sophie left to go to Lena’s and they grabbed her.”

Ichabod shifted in his seat. “She told me of that event, once,” he provided. “She said they left her for dead in the desert.”

“Yeah but she lived,” Ash said with a solemn nod. “That's the kinda woman that needs to be in charge here.”

“If a married woman can do it, I nominate Abbie,” Jenny grinned. She burst out laughing at her sister's horrified expression. “Aw, come on, Abbie, Pandora was grooming you to take over her spot. She had gone as far as declaring you her heiress. So you can't deny you would make an excellent madam.”

Ash held up a hand. “Hang on, wait a second. Pandora? _The_ Pandora? On Main? In Shitty Hollow? Owner and operator of Pandora's Box?”

“The same,” Jenny boasted. “Abbie was her favorite ‘daughter’. Even had a cute little nickname for her.”

“Jenny, please,” Abbie sighed.

“ _Napalutu,_ ” Jenny cooed.

“The Destroyer?” Ichabod asked curiously, peering at the tiny woman next to him. His eyes suddenly lit up and he beamed a smile at Ash.

Abbie ducked her head and closed her eyes. “Jenny, don't…” she said tersely.

Joe pulled up a chair and had a seat. “Okay, I need to know this. I mean, what did you destroy? People's ankles?”

Abbie narrowed her eyes at Joe. “A short joke. How very original,” Abbie huffed. 

Ash was blinking at Abbie in disbelief. “Wait wait… Abbie? Abbie is The Destroyer?” He looked at Joe. “There were a few underground fight clubs in The City and the surrounding area. The Destroyer is legendary in the right circles.” He nodded toward Ichabod. “Hell, I dragged him to a match once. He fell mad in love, wouldn’t shut up about her poise and how gracefully she moved. He was _convinced_ he could find out who she was and win her heart.”

Abbie pursed her lips and glanced up at Ichabod. He was staring at her adoringly, his cheek resting on his fist, a small smile on his lips. She had heard of men vying for her identity and offering their hands in marriage. Never would she have figured Ichabod would have been one of them! Although, technically, he had succeeded in his mission even if it wasn’t in the order he had intended.

With a small sigh, she admitted, “Alright… alright… yes. I _was_ Pandora's _Destroyer_. Past tense. Nothing more, nothing less. It really wasn’t as glamorous as one would think. I retired from the fighting clubs undefeated.”

She gave a small _hmph_ and prodded a bit of steamed potatoes with her fork. Abbie looked Jenny in the eye. “Anything else you may have heard was… also true.” 

It was so embarrassing to have her past brought to light in such a way! She had hoped to tell Ichabod about her days as Pandora’s Destroyer the second Tuesday of next week and for others to find out the day after never. Abbie was suddenly questioning the wisdom of bringing her sister out West. It had barely been a day and people already knew a few of her darker secrets. What would happen if the things that happened with Lucian came to light as well?

Abbie closed her eyes and sighed softly. _My beautiful, strong, angry Napalutu. I know it must hurt being alone in this cruel world._ She could still remember the softness of Pandora's touch on her cheek. _I, too, was once alone and forsaken. But I made myself stronger. Just as I can help you make yourself stronger too. I promise I will never sell you off to settle debts like your father did. We're forever seen as commodities instead of people. Aren't we? But if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be my beautiful daughter…_

Her eyes opened when she felt Ichabod gently tuck her hair behind her ear. Abbie turned her head toward her husband. He was gazing at her with such affection that she wanted to quickly finish her lunch and get back up stairs.

“You're amazing, you know that?” he said softly. “That's what I had planned to say if I ever found the identity of the Destroyer.”

Abbie felt her face warm to the point she had to look away. “I don't know about _amazing_ but…”

“The man said amazing,” Jenny piped. “If the man says you're amazing, that means you're amazing. I mean the fact you can bring down a man twice your size is pretty damn amazing if you ask me.” 

Sucking in a breath, Abbie took her fork and knife in hand. “Have any of you tried the chicken yet? This chicken smells delicious!”

Everyone else at the table laughed heartily. Ash pointed at Abbie with his fork as she dug into her meal. “I like her, brother, she's a keeper.”

“I'll leave you all to it then,” Joe said as he stood up. He pointed at Jenny. “Jenny. When you get the chance, there's someone I want you to meet. I've been telling her about you.”

Jenny's eyes lit up. “Is she pretty?”

“She's gorgeous,” Joe replied as he walked away, making a gesture to indicate an hourglass figure. “And Miss Abbie, you might be interested in trying out our hot spring. Perfect for whatever ails ya and I can make sure you get it all to yourself.”

“A hot spring? How indulgent!” Abbie beamed. 

Ichabod slipped his arm around Abbie's waist and gently hugged her to his side. She closed her eyes and smiled as she felt his lips on her temple. “I am inclined to agree with you on keeping her, Ashley.”

~*~

It wasn't fair, Bram thought as he leaned against the headboard of his bed. He propped his sketch pad on his knee. Not only was Ichabod going to end up inheriting the entire ranch at this rate, but he had stolen his bride and had very thoroughly ravished her.

Bram had been forced to listen to it through the night and the morning. It had annoyed Betsy when he kept asking why she never made the delicious sounds Abigail made. Why she never complimented his size…

“ _Because there's nothing to compliment you weirdo. You're so damn weird_ ,” she had snapped then left the room, not to return. Hopefully the insolent bitch had bedded down in her meager sewing room like a dog, he thought ruefully.

Since he could not be the one to pleasure his bride, he took his pleasure in her pleasure. He imagined it was himself making her whimper and moan. _Good Lord_ , she didn't have to pretend to enjoy his brother's company so thoroughly and so many times.

And just how had his brother learned to ruin a woman like that? He certainly didn't sound like a man that was supposedly _sweet._ His brother sounded like a man that knew exactly how to properly ravish a woman and make her beg for more.

_Stop begging my Abigail,_ Bram had thought numerous times through the night. It was unbecoming for a woman to beg for pleasure. Even if she sounded so beautiful doing so.

He had to plan carefully this time. Bram would never willingly hurt his brother. His only real ally in this world. And he certainly didn't want to harm his bride. He debated that he could find a way to sully his brother's image in her eyes. Perhaps even make him flee elsewhere to escape his shame.

Unfortunately his brother was well loved within the community. He had the kind of favor that Bram himself had always been denied; he was just as good as Ichabod!  
Perhaps he could instead make his brother seem weak. There wasn't a woman alive that would want a weak man. He knew precisely what to bring up next time they three were together. It would make Ichabod _buckle._

His ears pricked when he heard Abbie's delighted voice in the room next door. “ _Oh I've read of them in books but I thought they were a made up thing! Like El Dorado or the fountain of youth,_ ” she was saying. “ _And it's perfectly safe? Oh! Will you join me, husband? I wouldn't object to the company._ ”

Bram smirked in amusement. So she had learned of the infamous hot springs of Salt River Falls. Some things were just predictable with women. And why did she have to sound like she actually wanted Ichabod to join her in the spring? 

He knew his brother indulged in the springs on occasion. But they were more of a solo activity. For what reason would anyone want another to join them?

Bram had the scowl a bit. _Ichabod was still letting her read books?_ Perhaps that's where she got the notion that relaxing in the hot springs was a social activity. It honestly didn't do well for women to read. It filled their heads with ridiculous ideas. 

His mother had been an avid reader. And look where it had gotten her! It had gotten her dead. Bram would warrant every woman that met an unseemingly end was a _reader_. He'd have to put a stop to that sort of behavior once Abbie returned to his side.

~*~

Ichabod regretted the choice to not join his wife in the hot spring almost as soon as she closed the room door behind herself. He had almost caved when she gave him that last little pout before leaving.

Then again, he had also almost prostrated himself at her feet and dragged her to the floor to make love, when she gave him a kiss before leaving. But she had slipped away before he could.

Which was _fine_ as he had business to see to. Miss Jenny had brought up his willingness to do modifications to the Golden Nugget at the end of lunch, hense now he had to speak with none other than the former madam herself, Sophie Foster, and Joe about what needed to be done.

When he rounded the corner and caught sight of Madam Sophie at the bar, his heart instantly went aflutter. Not as much as it once did, but it was still there. She was as lovely as ever, wickedly impish smile, her hair pinned up with a lovely comb that gleamed in the light as she turned. 

Her dark eyes danced as she laughed at something Miss Jenny was saying. Miss Jenny was lounging on the bar like a cat who had gotten the cream. She reached over to tilt Madam Sophie's chin up and Madam Sophie's eyes grew large and her lips curled seductively.

Not too long ago, Ichabod had been a _regular_ for Madam Sophie, in spite of what he had led Abbie to believe during their first real conversation together. At least once a week she would invite him to her quarters and they would partake in a game of cards or chess, talk about the state of the world. Unlike the other girls, she was privileged to be more selective with whom she spent her time and how.

The fact he paid a price to play card games and chit chat probably hadn't helped the rumors that he was _sweet._ Sometimes they would lay in her bed and she would cradled his head in her lap as they talked. It was in those talks she suggested a library for Salt River Falls. 

It was during the discussions about the library that he first _lay_ with Madam Sophie. Somehow and someway, Ichabod had gotten it into his head that they were in love. He had even bought a ring and presented it to her with the intent to marry her, thinking she reciprocated.

She had very gently turned him down. _Oh, honey, no... Ichabod Crane, you're such a sweetie. And one day you'll make a woman - a very lucky woman, might I add - a wonderful husband. But I ain't the marryin’ kind._

He had responded by purchasing the building she had wanted for the library and giving her full ownership, then supplied a large donation of books to get it started. Though some would find that to be quite odd, considering she had turned down his proposal, it _was_ the perfect building for a library and she would make a fine librarian. It also permitted him to show her he harbored no ill feelings over her rejection.

Sophie turned towards him briefly then did a double take before beaming at him.

“Mister Ichabod Crane,” she greeted cheekily. “Get your skinny ass over here.” Jenny slipped into the seat on her left so Ichabod snatched the one on her right. Sophie hugged him tightly then leaned back into her seat.

He took Sophie's hand and kissed her knuckles. “Madam Sophie. A pleasure as always.”

“It's _Miss_ Sophie now, I thank you,” she gasped with mock shock. She swatted his chest playfully. “What's this I hear that you done caught yourself a wife? It's all I've heard around town for weeks! And that you brought her sister here for me.”

Ichabod cast a glance at Jenny, who grinned wickedly. “I didn't bring her west specifically for you. Just a bonus, I assure you, _Miss_ Sophie.”

Sophie glanced back at Jenny. “Well, I like her at any rate. She's perfect. So what are you doing _here_ instead of making your woman howl some more? It's good for business if the folks hear the kind of ruckus your wife makes. Hell, I know I was jealous and wanted to partake in one of these fine ladies of the Golden Nugget.”

She laughed and raised her glass when a couple fellas boasted a _here, here_ in her direction.

“I came to speak business with you and Joe about making a playhouse of the Nugget,” Ichabod provided. “As suggested by Miss Jenny.”

“The Nugget ain't my business no more, Ichabod,” Sophie pointed out. “You know that. But, business can wait. Let me pay for you and your wife a bottle and a tray of nibs and you go join her in them springs. Got that Joey?”

“Yes ma'am,” Joe responded from down the bar. “I'll get Betsy right on it.”

Sophie and Jenny snorted and giggled as Joe wandered off to see to getting the wine and tray in the works. “He's terrible,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes. “I warrant she's gonna be mighty peeved when I introduce everyone to our new madam. Which is who you'll have to do business concerning the Nugget through from now on.”

“New madam? When did this happen?” Ichabod asked.

“The second I found out all my old girls were besotted by Miss Jenny,” Sophie said as Jenny rested her chin on her shoulder. “And I guess I am too. She had a damn good reference from back East “

“The new madam is me,” Jenny preened. “So you're stuck with me being here with Abbie.”

“Fantastic, I am certain Abigail will be most delighted by the news,” Ichabod said in earnest. “Would you like for her to find out tonight during the announcement or tell her ahead of time?”

“Let’s wait and let her be surprised,” Jenny grinned. “That is if you let the woman off her back for a few minutes this evenin’.”

Ichabod shook his head and chuckled. “I’m going to fetch my toiletries and join my wife in the spring.” The two women laughed as he turned and trotted up the stairs to the room. He was no stranger to the hot springs. He indulged in them at least once every couple of months. Perhaps he could start indulging with his wife as well.

His timing on journeying to springs room was perfect, arriving at the door as Betsy was trying to balance a tray laden with cheese, meats, fruit, and bread with two glasses and a bottle of wine so she could reach the knob. “Permit me, ma’am,” Ichabod said lightly, lifting the tray from Betsy’s hands.

She gave him a sweet smile. “Thank you, Ichabod,” she said. “You’ve always been such a gentleman.”

“I have merely tried my best,” he replied. “Sometimes I fear I have not been as successful as I wish.”

Betsy twisted the knob and handed the bottle of wine over to him. “I sort of expected you to be in here with your wife.” She looked up at him, fluttering her lashes. “But just keep in mind we don’t judge if she ain’t what keeps you happy in the bedroom.”

Ichabod felt his face warm. “Oh I don’t think that will be such an issue as everyone thinks,” he replied. “I merely wished to grab my bathing supplies before joining my lovely bride. And I can take these from here.”

With a bitter smile, Betsy nodded. “Thanks anyway,” she said flatly.

Once Betsy left, Ichabod nudged the door completely open with the toe of his boot and slipped into the hot spring room. He pushed it closed and then slid the lock on the door into place. His brows arched as he rounded the divide and saw his wife, naked and waist deep in the spring with her back to him, trying to wrestle her hair into a scarf. 

“Urgh,” she groaned and tossed the scarf aside. “Can’t do anything when half my hair relaxes and the other half kinks up…”

“I think it's lovely and I won’t have you speaking such ill of my wife,” Ichabod intoned.

Abbie made a surprised sound and whirled around to face him, folding her arms over her chest until she confirmed that it was him. She smiled brightly as her arms dropped to her sides. “Changed your mind about joining me?”

Ichabod knelt down to place the tray and bottle on a small wooden platform at the edge of the spring. After pulling the bag containing his toiletries from his shoulder and setting it down, he stood and started to disrobe. “I have,” he stated. “And I am most certainly glad I did, it would be a shame to let you bathe alone.”

She took several paces back and sloshed water onto her shoulders, letting the water cascade down her breasts, as she held his gaze. Ichabod licked his lips hungrily as he watched the pert tips harden as he observed the damp path back to spring.

“It would have been,” she said. “There’s no telling what unladylike things I would have done if left alone.”

His mind was flooded with images of what he had awoken to in the early hours of the morning. Abbie’s lips parted with soft sighs, her head thrown back, as she attempted to quietly pleasure herself while he slept. Had it not been for her squirming he may have actually slept through it. But as he had actually awoke, he gladly offered to help her.

“You? Doing anything unladylike? Simply unthinkable,” Ichabod stated as he carefully eased into the spring. He tilted Abbie’s chin up when he approached. His eyes roamed over her face and hair. 

She reached up and pressed her hands against her hair. “This hair is unladylike.”

“It’s beautiful,” Ichabod murmured and kissed the tip of her nose. Her hands grasped his wrists as she wrinkled her nose. He knew without a doubt that his lovely wife could run naked through town and he would still insist she was nothing less than a perfect example of a lady. His lips brushed over hers. Abbie made a soft sound so he caught her mouth completely and kissed her deeply.

His hands slipped behind her neck to cradle her head in his hands. Abbie hummed and pulled back. “I think your opinion may be biased on account that I am your wife.”

Ichabod chuckled. “Of course it is, but it so happens to be no less true,” he said.

Abbie just stared up at him, searchingly. “I’m glad you found me,” she murmured.

“You think I found you?” Ichabod shook his head. “I think we found each other, in spite of the odds. Perhaps it was fate.”

“Fate,” Abbie breathed. Just like her novels, the ones she’d read in the middle of the night when Jenny couldn’t make fun of her choice of reading material. She couldn’t help but wonder how her life had worked out for her to be living the life she had coveted so dearly in her books. 

Abbie hoisted herself up against her husband, her fingers treading into his hair as her mouth crashed against his. She felt his arms tighten around her waist, one hand drifting down to cup the back of her thigh, making sure she was as close as they could get without him being inside of her.

Was it possible for one to be so happy they cried? Abbie realized quickly, when she felt the salty sting of tears in her eyes that it was in fact possible. Despite everything that had happened thus far, she was _happy_. She was surrounded that people that wanted her just because she was _her_. Not because she had a tract of land they wanted, not because she was Pandora’s _Napalutu_ , but because she was Abigail Mills, talented seamstress and wife to a upstanding gentleman.

Ichabod moaned softly into her mouth. A few moments later, Abbie found herself being deposited upon a smooth stone surface under the water. When Ichabod pulled back, his thumb brushed the apple of her cheek. “Why are you crying, my love?” he asked softly.

Abbie looked up at him and took his face in her hands. “Because I’m happy, husband,” she replied. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips traced the path of her tears, his tongue darting out to taste the saltiness mixed with her skin. Abbie laughed, pushing him away gently. “Did you just _lick me_?”

A low chuckle rumbled in Ichabod’s chest and he tilted her chin up, his eyes dancing with merriment. “You think I would only wish to taste you between your thighs, wife?”

Shivers coursed up Abbie’s spine at the thought of her husband feasting himself at her core. Thanks to Jenny she hadn’t exactly been a stranger to the concept - because she had asked Jenny how exactly a woman could pleasure another woman and Jenny had given her a brief chat on how rude it was to ask such things and then told her, _in graphic detail_. But to have a husband that knew how to give such pleasures _and_ was more than eager to perform them, well… she was certainly a lucky woman indeed!

“Well… I hadn't really thought about it,” Abbie replied.

“My goal in life… henceforth...” Ichabod murmured, gently sucking on her jaw. “Is to…” he repeated the gesture on several spots down her neck. “Taste every…” each of her shoulders in turn. “Single…” down on arm. “Inch…” he drew each finger into his mouth one by one, sucking them. “Of you…” he repeated the gesture on her other arm and hand. “That can be tasted…”

Abbie was panting by time he took her pinkie into his mouth again. She shivered again, her body somehow hot and chilled at the same moment. Where the heck did this man learn to seduce a woman? She wanted to shake their hand then mock them for letting him go so willy nilly.

“Ichabod…” Abbie said softly. “Please…”

He grinned, her pinkie caught between his teeth. He sucked deeply on it as his own fingers fluttered between her thighs. Abbie shuddered. Pleasure was rolling through her like a jolt of lightning, from the tip of her tongue to where her husband was thrusting his fingers inside of her. Her free hand slipped into the water and her fingers sought out her clit.

Ichabod released her pinkie. “Permit me, my lady,” he murmured, nudging her fingers away with his own thumb. Abbie clutched the edge of the spring tightly as her husband rubbed gently circles around her clit while pumping his fingers inside of her. His head dipped down and he sucked hard on her nipple, his teeth delicately scrapping the tip.

“Ichabod,” she whimpered helplessly, splashing water when her feet kicked. “Husband, please…” Her head fell back as her hips jerked and swirled against Ichabod’s hand. Her back bowed and she choked on her own breath as pleasure washed through her body. When she finally sucked in a breath, it sounded more like a sob.

Her husband drew out her pleasure until she felt like she would never stop shivering and throbbing. This was her existence now; A constant state of pleasure. She would never stop feeling that gentle clenching between her thighs, aching to squeeze her husband’s fingers.

“Oh Abbie,” Ichabod whispered, nuzzling her chin. “Please tell me you want me inside of you.”

She weakly lifted her head to blink at Ichabod. How could she say no when his face said that would make him the happiest man on earth? “Mmm… gmm hmm…” she murmured, nodding. Her fingers ran through his hair and over his face and shoulders. Truth be known, having him inside of her would make _her_ the happiest woman on earth.

Abbie pouted with she felt his fingers pull out of her. Her pout turned to a gasp, her hips bucking wildly against her husband, as she felt his cock push inside of her. “ _Yeeessss_ ,” Abbie groaned.

Ichabod rasped her name, pulling her mouth to his to kiss her deeply as they moved together. It wasn’t long before Abbie was once again trembling in his arms. She dug her fingernails into his biceps as she met him thrust for thrust. Good God, it should be a sin to feel so good, so complete!

When her husband spun them around so he could be seated upon the underwater platform, Abbie pressed her palms against his chest and rolled her hips torturously. Ichabod swore and bit his bottom lip to suppress a groan. She wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the spring, her husband, or a combination of the two, but she took a moment to wipe away the beads of sweat trickling down her face.

His hands slid up her back and he lunged forward to lavish her breasts with attention, licking, nipping, and sucking at her flesh, making his way to her lips so he could kiss her once again. “Ichabod,” she breathed, her head falling back. He placed gentle kisses on the underside of her chin.

“My wife,” Ichabod growled, making Abbie shiver then laugh.

“My husband,” Abbie murmured, peppering his jaw with kisses.

Abbie choked on her own breath as Ichabod grasped her hips and rutted hard against her. “Come for me, Abigail,” he rasped close to her ear. “Let me feel you quake from the inside.”

“Oh heavens,” Abbie yelped as her body shuddered and submitted to her husband's sensual demand. She clung to him, panting for breath as she felt him finally find release inside of her. After a moment she felt his questing lips seeking her own and turned her head to take her prize. When she pulled back, she grinned against his smile. “Where did you learn to talk to a lady in that way, Mister Crane? I feel I owe them a huge favor.”

“Trust me, you would not wish to owe her any favors as she would be most keen on collecting,” Ichabod murmured. He gave her several small kisses on her face before cradling it in his hands. “And I have no intentions of sharing you, my love. You're mine.”

Abbie's heart skipped in her chest. The last time someone had said such a thing to her, it had filled her heart with dread and fear. But the way Ichabod said it, it was warm and erotic. “Are you mine,” she asked.

“If you have to ask I fear I am doing something terribly wrong,” Ichabod replied, his voice a gentle rumble. When she raised a questioning brow, he brushed her hair from her face and nodded, “I am wholly and completely yours.” 

They both jumped at the sound of a firm knock on the door. “ _Mrs. Crane_ ,” Joe's voice called through the door. “ _Is everything alright in there? One of the patrons said they saw a strange man come back here_.”

“Everything is fine Mister Corbin,” Ichabod called in response. “I was merely joining my wife.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” Joe responded. “If you need anything just ring the bell.”

“We'll bear that in mind,” Abbie piped in. When she thought Joe had gone, she rested her forehead against Ichabod's chest and giggled. “I don't know what to do with all these folks being concerned about me.”

“Get used to it, my love,” Ichabod said, tilting her chin up. “You're a beloved citizen of Salt River Falls now.”

Her eyes darted to the tray as she grinned. “That may be so but my husband has made a very hungry woman of me.”

Ichabod grasped her waist and whirled her around so her rear end was settled onto his lap. He reached over and grabbed a plump strawberry. “Then permit me to make absolutely certain you get fed by this lavish tray that was gifted to us.”

Abbie opened her mouth and took a bite when he placed the strawberry in her mouth. Apparently she was not to be permitted to do anything for herself anymore but this time she could not find fault in the person demanding it from her.

~*~

Marigold carefully crested the landing with the covered tray, not a single wobble noted as she walked down the silent, darkened hallway. The shadow at the door at the end of the hall solidified into the familiar shape of Maurice, at attention before a large, ornate door. 

“Afternoon, Maurice,” Marigold said with a nod to the tall man. “Anything?”

Maurice shook his head. “No,” he said, and turned to open the door for her. 

Mother was still abed, staring vacantly at the sliver of sunlight peeking through her drapes. That much was to be expected on this particular day. Marigold entered the room tentatively and looked to the table across from the large, ornate bed. The tray she brought this morning was still there, untouched.

“Good afternoon Mother,” she said as she set the lunch tray next to it. Marigold felt foolish but there was nothing else she could do except cling to routine. When she looked at Pandora on the bed she was struck by how small such an indomitable woman looked. 

“Do you need anything, Mother?” she asked gently.

Mother blinked slowly and wiped away a tear from her cheek. “She would have been twenty-four today,” she said. 

Marigold’s heart sank as she rushed over to help Pandora into a sitting position. “Who, Mother?” she asked dutifully, almost as routine as the covered trays. 

“The one _he_ took from me. My baby.” Pandora groaned at the change in position. “My god it hurts,” she said. 

Marigold turned to the side table and grabbed the pretty blue bottle, distressed at how heavy it still was. “Mother, you haven’t taken your medicine,” she said, pulling the spoon from its customary pocket on her dress. “You know the doctor said to take it when it becomes too painful.”

Pandora laughed briefly through her tears. “No matter what it’s always painful,” she said. “Besides, I’ve seen too many carried off in the sweet arms of Morpheus to touch too much of that stuff. It leaves one… careless. I can’t afford to be careless right now.”

Marigold pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured some of the laudanum into the spoon before presenting it aloft. “Mother,” she said.

Pandora stared back almost defiantly before she opened her mouth just enough to slip the spoon through. 

“There,” Marigold said with a nod. “Soon it won’t be so painful.”

“The pain I feel can’t be fixed with any medicine.” Pandora blinked slowly and began to sag against the pile of pillows at her back. “Thank you, Marigold. You are such a good daughter.”

Marigold smiled to herself as she returned the laudanum to its customary place.“Thank you, Mother,” she said as she looked over at the drapes. “It’s so dark in here; would you like for me to open your curtains?”

“No. Not today, my darling,” Pandora said. She swallowed hard. “If only my beautiful Napalutu were here.” 

Marigold had always looked up to Abbie. Well, no, that wasn’t true. She _adored_ her. She was everything Marigold never thought she could be - graceful, cunning, smart, and strong. She had men and women falling before her, not like Marigold with her brassy red-gold hair and freckles slapped across her nose and cheeks like the devil himself put them there. No, Marigold didn’t need any reminding that she wasn’t Mother’s _Napalutu_.

Pandora sniffled, crying quietly. “This day of all damned days, she alone could make it bearable.”

_Fuck_. Marigold looked away for a moment, her face burning with a potent mix of rage and embarrassment. How could she have forgotten the day?

Everyone - _everyone_ \- knew that twenty-four years ago to the day Old Man Moloch had stolen Pandora out from under Father’s protection as a means of leverage. The word of god said at the time Father had been in New Orleans conducting business and Mother had been shut away in their big house nearing the end of what had been a difficult pregnancy.

Depending on who you ask the night was overcast. Some say the sky was full of stars and the moon so full everything looked like it was bathed in silver. Still others say it was raining like god was crying. But everyone agreed that somehow in the dark of night Mother, heavy with child, was forcibly carried from the house and spirited away. Even in her delicate condition she killed two men - their bodies were found where they had fallen, one in the foyer and one on the steps, with their throats torn open.

Again, depending on who you asked Mother had been taken to Harrisburg and held in an opulent manor while Father negotiated for her return. Others said she was shackled - _shackled!_ \- in a dank basement in Newark and left until Father found her, half starved and mad, clutching their daughter with her one free arm.

Father had been too late. 

The girl child had been a casualty in the scheme; Mother had little help during her lengthy labor and the conditions were deplorable. Given very little food and drink and only a ratty, smelly blanket to cover herself and her newborn, the baby had taken a fever and perished. 

Depending on who you asked, Father went insane. 

Others said Mother did.

Marigold figured it didn’t really matter much; not long after that Father had been found hanging from a lamp post, murdered by Old Moloch. If Mother hadn’t been driven to the brink before...

Depending on who you asked, Mother went out and taught Old Man Moloch a lesson _that very night_. Others said she gathered her strength and plotted and waited until she was in the position to make sure Old Man Moloch had learnt quicklike that it hadn't been Father he needed to worry about. That Father was in front because he knew Mother was a type of monster before unknown.

Some said she strangled Damon Moloch. Others said It was said Mother stabbed him through the heart and watched the light leave his eyes. Anyone who knows Mother knows she’s capable of either, but that was hardly her style. Mother liked to set the trap and watch one walk into it of their own accord. She was patient and calculating, unlike most of the men folk that had power in these parts.

Other daughters whispered how _Napalutu_ had been critical to Mother’s plans - Abbie had great skill when it came to extracting information in ways that never left a trace. Jenny boasted that her sister could get a man to tell her everything before he’d even realized she’d asked a question. 

Marigold could almost recite the stories from memory. Information Abbie had allowed Mother to maneuver major players exactly where she needed them so she could knock them down one by one - until she knocked Old Man Moloch down for good. It had taken almost two decades, but Pandora had gotten her revenge.

Napalutu. The favored one. 

And yet…

Marigold couldn’t feel any resentment toward Abbie. Sure, she was Mother’s favorite. She could do no wrong and walked on water. But sometimes… when Mother looked at her it was like she wasn’t _really_ seeing Abbie, but the daughter she should have raised. 

It mustn't have been easy on Abbie, either, to be seen as the embodiment of a ghost.

Regardless of what Marigold thought, Mother was right - Abbie had been the only one capable of making her smile on this day. Abbie could make anyone smile. 

“Mother…” Marigold said tentatively. 

Pandora sighed and lifted her head. “Yes, my darling daughter.”

“I want to talk about the future,” she said. 

Pandora’s smile waned. “What of it?”

“You taught us not to ignore the hard truths,” Marigold said. 

“I did.”

“And the hard truth is… you grow weaker every day.”

Pandora stared back at her. “Do I?” she asked softly.

Marigold heard the warning in the prickling at the back of her head, but she still had to say what needed to be said. The other girls were growing more concerned by the day. “Mother, don’t you see it? You grow tired almost every night and throughout the day. Mary entertains our clients more than you do these days.” Pandora merely hummed. “There is… concern that haven't named a new successor.”

“I have,” Pandora said.

Marigold sighed and came to sit on the bed next to her. She went to take her hand but thought better, letting her hand stay on the ornately embroidered cover. “Mother, Abbie isn’t here.”

Pandora adjusted the duvet across her lap before she placed her hands on it flat. “My Napalutu will return. She will not forget her dear old Mother,” Pandora said softly, patting Marigold's hand. “Lucian has merely inconvenienced us, my dear. Your sister will come home.”

“Perhaps you should write her a letter, letting her know you have taken ill,” Marigold suggested. “There’s a messenger that comes through that goes west often. That pretty native fella, that took Jenny west. He's only one of several.”

Pandora removed her hand. “I’ve grown tired,” she said. “I don’t wish to eat anything.”

Marigold stared at Mother’s profile, willing her to look at her - to say something, _anything_. Time stretched on and Marigold knew she could only push so much.

She wasn’t _Abbie_.

“Yes, mother,” Marigold muttered as she rose from the bed. 

“Leave the water,” Pandora said as she pulled her sleep mask on. 

Marigold almost slammed the pitcher down on the table; only her training saved her from that. “Yes, Mother,” she said, and stalked from the room with two trays in hand.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it takes Abbie a couple tries to get to her new shop and Ichabod visits the town eye candy on a very special mission. We're pretty sure Lucian is still an evil thing that is evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do apologize for being so long with updating. The Smut Fairies have been incredibly busy with work and when SF2 had a moment to breathe they couldn't get their laptop to work (the holidays have resolved this issue!)

_“I’m not mad,” Daddy said._

_“You’re not?”_

_He sighed, long and deep, and shook his head. “Sometimes when we have something we must do but don’t want to do… it can make you angry.”_

_Abbie nodded. She felt that way sometimes, especially when the teacher made her clap erasers when she answered a question right._

_“My wonderful, headstrong child,” Daddy said. “If anything ever happens to me, I need you to make sure you watch out for your sister. She's not like you. She may try to act it, but she's not.”_

_She nodded eagerly. It wasn’t unusual for her to be getting into some kind of trouble. It was sometimes hard being one of the only black girls in their lessons. Her sister being one of the others. More than once she had to knock a boy clear out because he tried to tug on her hair._

_No boy still had managed to do so._

_The girls were craftier. They cooed and touched her face or her arm and said how pretty her hair was before gently touching it. Sometimes she didn't mind cause the girl was sweet and pretty, other times she would swat their hands away._

_“I will Daddy, I promise,” she whispered._

_“And I’m doing this so you can make sure you take care of your mama for me,” Daddy added._

_She nodded and again promised. Why did it seem like Daddy knew something bad was going to happen as opposed to it all just being a maybe. He picked her up and moved off of the sidewalk and into the street to avoid the white woman coming their way. He pointedly did not glance in her direction and Daddy only put her down when he moved back to the sidewalk once they were good and past her._

_As they walked Abbie stared at the women’s clothes. They were fancy, almost as fancy as the dresses Mama made. “And one last thing, Honey. Stay away from men like Old Man Moloch; I need you to be smarter than that, you understand?”_

_She didn’t, but responded,“yes, Daddy,” all the same._

_“Don’t let them get you cornered, but If they got you cornered don't hesitate to take them down. You just gotta make sure they don’t get back up.”_

_That’s something she knew; something that came easy to her. She straightened her shoulders. “I will Daddy. Just like you showed me?”_

_Daddy nodded. “Just like I showed you.”_

_“If the world was perfect… If I was a better man… I could teach you all you needed to know to survive in this world.” Daddy’s face was sad and angry. “This world is gonna try to eat you up and spit you out, even if you_ are _careful.” They walked in silence until they reached the doors of Pandora's Box. “Miss Pandora is going to show you how to be the type of lady who can protect herself.”_

_Abbie couldn’t explain it - couldn’t_ understand it _with her limited life experience, but the world on one side of the doors was not the same world as on the other. The room they were led to was huge, dark, and cool. At the center, in a beautiful burgundy chair, was a fair skinned, dark haired woman._

_Abbie thought she was beautiful and when she smiled the woman reminded her of Daddy’s favorite dagger. The dagger’s hilt had real rubies in it and the scabbard was mahogany wrapped in embroidered silk. It was one of the most beautiful things in the Mills home in her opinion, and the times Daddy let her pull the dagger it revealed a sharp, gleaming blade, just like the woman’s smile._

_Even though she was but a child, Abbie knew about the woman before her; Mama had brought her and Jenny along when she would attend to her special clients, as Mama called them. Mistress Pandora rarely left her den, so seeing her in the flesh was considered a treat._

_“I knew you’d make the right decision, Ezra,” Mistress Pandora said gently as she rose from her chair. Abbie’s eyes widened as she came to stand before them. “Lori married a smart man.” She cupped Abbie’s cheek with cool, thin fingers. “Goodness how you’ve grown since I last saw you. You’re beautiful.”_

_Daddy gave Pandora a hard glare. “I mean what I said, Pandora. I don't want her being one of your red women.”_

_Pandora's eyes hadn't left her face. “ I said I would make sure she's strong. I will make sure she's a proper lady.” She gave Daddy an equally hard glare. “But what she makes of herself is her decision, not mine. And it certainly isn't yours. Not anymore, you do understand -- you’ve waived that privilege.”_

_Abbie smiled because she already liked Mistress Pandora. She always told the truth, but she never yelled or hit her and Jenny, even after Jenny had accidentally knocked over a vase when Mama had a mouth full of pins. Abbie just knew they were gonna get a spanking because they had gotten too boisterous while playing._

_Pandora had just laughed and called someone in to clean up the mess. She patted their cheeks, called them energetic little things, and gave them a worn deck of cards to play with until Mama had finished. Mama stopped taking them with her shortly after that._

_When Pandora held out her hand, Abbie took it willingly. “Do you remember my name, child?” she asked._

_Abbie nodded. “Mistress Pandora,” she said, parroting what she’d heard her parents call her._

_Mistress Pandora smiled and knelt down to her level, cupping her cheek. “I know you have a mother and I am not here to replace her, but moving forward you will address me as Mother.” She tapped Abbie's nose with her finger. Abbie heard her father’s sharp intake of breath but she couldn’t pull her attention away from the woman in front of her. “Are we clear?”_

_“Yes, M-Mother,” Abbie said dutifully. Her heart stuttered once; was this a betrayal of Mama? No, it couldn’t be… it didn’t feel like it… Abbie was confused and suddenly doubt began to creep in. She glanced up at her father, but he was staring at his feet with that hard, pained expression, the grip on her suitcase tight in his hand. Mama hadn’t explained why she packed it, and Daddy didn’t tell her why he brought it with them on their walk._

_Her heart fell when she remembered Mama talking about how the old man they had run away from had sold her sisters and brother when they were still children. Had Mama and Papa sold her to Mistress Pandora? With wide eyes she watched her father carefully placed her suitcase down._

_“Come along, Abigail,” Pandora said sweetly. “Let's get you settled in.”_

_“Yes’m,” Abbie responded with a nod, picking up her solitary suitcase. When she looked back at Daddy he still wouldn’t--_

Abbie's eyes fluttered open as sunlight streamed through a tiny gap in the curtains. Like leaden puzzle pieces, memories slotted into place and she remembered she was no longer a little girl in Sleepy Hollow. She became aware of her husband cuddled around her and as his arm tightened around her waist his touch chased away any lingering melancholy. Her feet between his legs, his arms hugging her back to his chest, his breath at the back of her neck. It was the closest she thought she would ever get to Heaven.

Was this really what it was like to live a normal life with a normal husband, who did normal things? She hadn't expected it to be so… nice.

Pandora had led her to believe that husbands would be stern and controlling. That was why she needed to learn to be strong and self-reliant. Husbands thought their wives and daughters were property instead of people, and only weak women allowed such behavior.

She had only been ten when Daddy took her to stay at Pandora's Box, only able to see them once or twice a month until Daddy died. Jenny started coming to visit more frequently after Mama died too. When she was eighteen she found out the truth of why.

Daddy had been in debt to Old Man Moloch. While they hadn't sold her, as she had thought, Papa had managed to strike up a deal with Pandora.

Pandora had offered to wipe his debts clean. In return, she had needed more “daughters” and she thought Abbie was at just the right age to start learning. After a couple days of wondering what was happening, Abbie had been surprised to find herself in classes. Classes about politics, sciences, mathematics, and of course, etiquette.

Although, she had been a little perplexed at why a proper lady would need to know that the best way to defend oneself with a fan was with it closed and to wield it like a knife, aiming for the eyes.

Daddy had agreed to the arrangement as long as she didn't have to “entertain” men. True to her word, Pandora had not groomed Abbie to entertain -- not that she would have because her “entertainment” specialty was catering to men who preferred the company of sweet little dandies and odd desires which the men never got to touch the ladies unless she had a crop in her hands and said he could.

When Abbie came of age, she was free to choose for herself as to what she used her skills for. Abbie had asked if she could be a spy. Pandora had chuckled and responded that Abbie was already in a position to be an excellent spy. Then offered her an opportunity only a fool would turn down.

Abbie had long made herself a favorite amongst the stage actors, making costumes. Pandora had taken her out of the costume room and paired her with the finest seamstresses to hone her skills. She had listened, wide eyed, for hours about stories of ladies working coded messages into their stitching to relay intel.

_“Your position is unique, Abigail,” Pandora said softly, when Abbie had become frustrated, thinking the sewing and listening to people yammer on about things was useless. “Men and women alike will spill their deepest, darkest secrets in your company. I need you to listen for this information. They'll underestimate you because you're a woman. They'll think you're uneducated because you're a black woman. But we both know different. Don't we, my dear?”_

Pandora had used the information Abbie and other girls gathered to bring ruin to people like Old Man Moloch. Abbie wasn't sure who dealt the final blow but the say he died had been the first time she had ever seen Pandora truly, gleefully smile.

It had happened on the anniversary of the day Pandora lost her own child many years before. A few months later, on Abbie's eighteenth birthday, Pandora had announced to all of the sisters that she had a very special gift for Abbie.

_“My gift to my beloved daughter, Grace Abigail, is to entrust her with all we have built together once I grow too old and weary to protect you all,” Pandora had said, lifting a glass of wine in toast toward Abbie._

_Abbie felt her heart plummet into her stomach and she suddenly felt ill. Why would Mother do this? What had set her above the others? Surely there was someone else who was more suitable?_

She could still vividly recall Lucian confiding in her that he had to rebuild the Moloch name from the shame his father had left it in.

Turns out the real shame had been that there was anything left _for_ Lucian to rebuild. Perhaps things would have turned out differently if it had been that way. 

_Let it go_ , Abbie thought, rubbing her hands along Ichabod’s forearms. No point wishing someone ill when they were out of your life for good.

As if he could hear her thoughts Ichabod’s grasp tightened and he made a sound that seemed almost distressed. Abbie snuggled deeper into his embrace and allowed herself to drowse a little until she realized the day. “Oh my gracious,” she gasped, bolting upright. 

Ichabod scrambled to his knees on the bed, looking around wildly. He was naked as the day he was born, his hair going one way and another. “Abbie?” he asked, his voice full of early morning croak mixed with panic. “Abigail, are you alright?” he asked as he reached for her. 

Abbie had already scooted off the bed in pursuit of respectable clothing. “It’s opening day,” she said, kneeling before one of her trunks and throwing it open. “I’ve got to get to the store! How could I have forgotten?”

Ichabod’s shoulders sagged at the realization there was no immediate danger and he fell back to the bed, limp with relief. He had been dreaming about the night of the fire when Abbie had startled him awake. Images of that fateful night rose like flames in his mind and he stared at Abbie to remind himself that everything truly important had been saved from the fire.

The possibilities were still too devastating to contemplate. 

In his nightmare, he hadn’t been able to get out of the house fast enough and he had ended up holding Abbie’s lifeless body--strangled by the smoke--in his arms as he watched the house burning. He had practically felt tears stinging his eyes as he jostled her in his arms, trying to get her to wake up.

“I was supposed to be there by nine,” Abbie was saying as she peered out the window, jolting him out of his dark vision. “Oh, no! It's half past!”

She turned towards him with petticoats and a dress in hand, the entirety of her naked body on display. Abbie ducked her head bashfully as his eyes roamed over her. “Why are you looking at me like that,” she asked with a dejected sigh.

How did he say that up until a few seconds ago, he thought they were at their burned home and she had perished in his arms? Was it yet too soon to confess that he had already fallen in love with her? He swallowed hard. Ichabod had often been told he fell in love far too easily and it had led to his own share of heart aches.

Ichabod propped up on his elbow and finger combed his hair from his face. “I wasn't aware I was looking at you any sort of way.” _She was alive_ , he told himself. He could still hold her, still kiss her, still look into her beautiful eyes. He could still see her smile, the way the sunlight cast her silhouette, making her look like a heavenly being.

They could still make love.

Abbie lowered the clothing as her eyes roamed down his body. Her brows both arched as she reached his pelvis. Ichabod followed her gaze then smirked wickedly, shifting his hips gently so his arousal bobbed free of the bed coverings. Her breath hitched and her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“I have to go and… _husband, you're such an unrepentant scoundrel_ ,” she croaked weakly.

“Why? Because I'm stretching like any other person does when they wake up?” Ichabod asked, a teasing glimmer in his eyes as he feigned an over the top display of stretching and grunting with relief.

He watched her squeeze her thighs together and shift from one foot to the other.

Abbie whimpered softly as Ichabod rolled onto his back and rubbed his hands over his own chest and belly in pretense of getting his blood flowing properly. From her perspective, his blood was flowing fine and seemed to be focusing on making his cock stand straight up.

His head turned toward her and he gave her a sleepy smile.

Abbie closed her eyes and shook her head as her body betrayed her and she felt a damp heat between her thighs. “You rake!” she pouted, stamping her foot.

Truth be known, she loved it. To have such a gentleman as her husband, but to have him be such a salacious thing only for her? And for him to want to pleasure her so thoroughly that she would never consider being indiscreet...

Abbies clothes dropped to floor with a whisper softer than an angel’s sigh. His beautiful bride was on him in an instant, pressing her hands to his chest as she straddled his stomach. When she sat up and gazed down at him expectantly, Ichabod took the chance to drink in his view and determined he rather liked it.

After a moment, Abbie's bottom lip poked out with a small pout. What was he waiting for? She didn't have to wait too long to find out, as he lifted her gently, sending her sprawling on his chest. 

She laughed with delight then her eyes widened as she felt him pushing inside of her. He guided her to sitting up again and thrust upward. Abbie's eyes fluttered closed and a soft, surprised moan slipped between her lips. She grasped his wrists as he bounced her gently on his cock.

“Ichabod,” she whimpered, her head falling back as she rolled her hips.

Ichabod licked his lips and lunged forward to latch on to one of her nipples. He groaned loudly when her walls clenched around him and he fell back against the bed. Abbie's small hands slid over his stomach and chest, holding him down as she found her own rhythm.

“Oh heavens,” she breathed. He felt so much bigger in this position. Which, that wouldn't be a problem if he didn't already feel massive inside of her! Her hand drifted down to where they we're joined as she seated herself fully upon him. “Ichabod!”

She held herself firmly until her body began to tremble and she felt ready to sob with pleasure. When she reached that point she began to move again, to give herself relief, as minute as it may be.

They both startled when a sharp knock sounded on their door. “ _Abigail_ ,” Mrs Collins’ voice called briskly. “ _Is everything alright, dear? I was concerned because you said you would be at the shop at nine_.”

Abbie bore down on her husband again and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. She swirled her hips slowly and gasped, “Everything is… _swell_ Mrs. Collins! I will be there shortly!”

She yelped her husband's name as he wrapped his arms around her waist and bounced her hard on his lap. At that point she no longer had control over what sounds came from her lips or how loud they were.

“ _Oh dear_ ,” she heard the other woman say meekly. “ _Take your time, dear. Pardon the intrusion_!”

Abbie whimpered as Ichabod whirled them around and pressed her into the mattress. She gasped and moaned as they shook the bed with the sheer force of their love making, the headboard clapping hard against the wall.

Her back bowed and her hands glided over her husband's posterior before she dug her nails into the soft flesh as it bounced between her thighs. A loud scream ripped between her lips as her entire body shook and jerked with release. She wailed her husband's name, her legs spasming out of control.

They lay panting for breath shortly thereafter, the bed saturated beneath them. “Would you like for me to walk you to the general store, Abbie?” Ichabod asked, taking her hand and placing tiny kisses on each finger.

“That's sorely tempting, Ichabod,” Abbie stated. “But I somehow feel it would take us forever to get there if you did. Not to mention you've said there are things to arrange with the house.”

“That's correct,” he murmured. “There's yet much to do because I plan on building you the grandest and finest house I can.”

Abbie swatted his chest. “No need for all that, husband. I don't need so many rooms that I can't keep the house cleaned.”

“I want to make certain we can fill a house with handsome sons and beautiful daughters,” Ichabod said softly. “As many as would make you the happiest wife and mother on this Earth. I would gladly help you keep our home clean. We'll hire maid if we must.”

“I'm already the happiest wife,” she replied, cupping his cheek. Abbie felt tears burn the back of her eyes at how happy he made her. “But I will be fine walking myself to my shop.”

She found herself grinning. _Her very own shop_! Abbie still couldn't believe it! Her own shop with her own wages! It was all she had ever wanted. Her own shop without Pandora or one of her cronies trying to find out what sort of things Abbie had discovered.

“Then you should hurry, lest I find another reason to make you tarry,” Ichabod said as he tracked her movements as she reluctantly left the bed and his embrace. 

He watched her pack away her delectable form in a fetching lilac dress, with gold embroidery at her neck and wrists. She’d given him a scolding glare when he volunteered to help with straightening her petticoats. After fending off her husband Abbie pinned her curls up beneath a matching hat and turned to and fro before the mirror before giving herself a prim little nod, pulling on matching gloves. 

She caught Ichabod staring at her, with a heated gaze, through the mirror and flushed. “When one wears her profession on her sleeve as I do, quite literally,” she said dryly, “I’ve got to advertise as I walk down the street.”

“And you are the most beautiful advertisement one has ever seen,” he said sincerely, then licked his lips. “I'd buy whatever you were selling without a second thought.”

Abbie grabbed her purse and hesitated before she rushed back to Ichabod and gave him a long, sweet kiss. Before he could reach up to cup the back of her head gently, to maybe coax her back into the bed, she broke away breathlessly. 

Abbie laughed. “I should’ve known better than that, but how could I resist,” she threw over her shoulder as she ran to the door. “Until later, my darling, scoundrel of a husband,” she cooed, and shut the door behind her.

Ichabod smiled to himself, laying back to stare up at the ceiling. He had to admit, love was a many splendored thing, as one has always heard. It made the mundane divine…

Including the wet spot he suddenly found himself lounging in, he realized as he blinked up at the ceiling.

~*~

Mrs. Collins took a step back from the mannequin to judge her work. “This is such a pretty dress, Abbie,” she said as she adjusted the accompanying shawl. “I might have to take this one for myself.”

Abbie stood from where she was stocking unused spools of thread behind the long counter. She saw what dress Mrs. Collins was referring to and smiled. “I can make you something better than that,” she scoffed as she grabbed more spindles to put away.

“Honey, how would you have time when you and your husband are newlywed, in love, and very attractive?” Mrs. Collins asked sweetly.

Abbie squeaked from behind the counter. “Uh… what do you mean?”

Mrs. Collins laughed as she sauntered over to the counter, leaning over to grab Abbie’s eye. “Oh, did you forget I came to see you earlier? I think you know _exactly_ what I mean.”

Abbie stared at the shelf in front of her. “I wonder if I shove some of this over, could I climb in and die in peace,” she muttered.

Mrs. Collins laughed again, reaching down to pat the top of Abbie’s curls. “Again, nothing more natural on this planet than the positive _preoccupation_ one has with ones spouse right after marriage. Perfectly healthy.” 

Abbie made a non-committal noise as she began arranging the spindles by color. Her face was burning at the thought people _knew_ about her and her husband’s romantic habits.

“And,” Mrs. Collins drawled, “Salt River Falls loves new birth announcements. The whole town gets involved.”

Abbie blinked, but refused to cover her face though she felt the mortifyingly cold finger of embarrassment slither down her spine. “What?” she squeaked. “Birth announcements?”

“My dear child, has no one had this talk with you?” Mrs. Collins asked cheekily. 

“I don’t think anyone but two people on this whole green earth has asked me such personal questions in such a frank manner,” Abbie admitted.

Mrs. Collins nodded rather than looking abashed. “Artie has told me I can be a bit blunt, and I mind others’ business as if it were my own.”

Abbie just looked back at her. “...And?” she asked with amusement.

Mrs. Collins shrugged one shoulder. “I married the man because he’s smart and honest,” she said primly as she jokingly turned her nose up to return dressing the lone remaining naked mannequin. “But he honestly hasn’t a clue as to what ladies chat about when the lads aren’t around.”

Abbie twisted a spindle in her hand, staring at the glint from the sunlight pouring through the window over the counter. Sure she had heard titters from the ladies she sewed for and Jenny liked to over share on many things, but nine times out of ten she had mentally checked out. There was a possibility she had things wrong. “Mrs. Collins?”

“Yes, child?” When Abbie didn’t speak Mrs. Collins came back to the counter and peered over. “Well, what is it?”

Abbie swallowed her pride and embarrassment with a sigh. “Perhaps no one has actually talked to me about _making babies_ ,” she hedged. “What I mean is… I know the basics of what a man and wife must do to conceive a child, and I know how to avoid the results of such a union, but when it comes to… _conscious_ conception...”

Mrs. Collins’ eyebrows almost rose up to her hairline. “How old are you, dear?”

“I’m a grown woman,” Abbie protested, jutting her chin up haughtily.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Collins murmured. “If you have to declare such a thing you can’t be far into womanhood.”

Abbie opened her mouth to refute, but found she couldn’t. “I’m twenty-four,” she said. “...in three months,” she muttered under her breath.

Mrs. Collins huffed a laugh. “Oh dear,” she said.

“I am an adult,” Abbie said.

“Absolutely you are,” Mrs. Collins agreed with the same tone one might use to reassure a child that they are a big boy or girl. “Has… has anyone told you about relations between married folk?”

Abbie was glad no one could see her flush beneath her complexion. “Mrs. Collins, you _did_ come to see about me this morning,” she reminded her pointedly. “I think it’s safe to assume that if I didn't know about _relations_ when I came here, I am certainly in the know now.”

Mrs. Collins’ smile turned sly. “That I did, young lady. Then you know what should come after such behavior, am I right?”

Abbie shoved the rest of the yarn onto the shelf and rose to her full five foot one inch height. “I do, Mrs. Collins,” she said. “I mean… I think I do.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I was trained to brew a tea that kept pregnancy at bay, and terminated unwanted pregnancies early.

“M… Mother made me drink it every week when -- I was engaged once before because I didn't wish... And…” she looked away for a moment with a pained look in her eyes. She closed her eyes and sighed as she decided to ask what was truly on her mind. “Is it supposed to be so… pleasant? From what I had been... told, it's supposed to be a duty and something I should just accept. But… am I terrible for taking enjoyment while with my husband?”

“Oh my dear, what sort of fool said it should be solely a duty. Like a common house chore? If it's not pleasant what purpose would it serve?” Miss Collins chuckled. “Besides, my mama said the best way to assure conception is to make sure the lady is satisfied.” She gave Abbie a coy wink. “And if what I overheard is any indication, you could very well be on your way to having twins.”

Abbie's heart stammered, her hands flew to her waist, eyes widening. _Twins? Surely she was entirely too petite for that!_

“Speaking of babes,” Mrs Collins said. “They're having a little shindig in the town’s square next weekend to celebrate Leena's latest pregnancy. Will you and Ichabod be in attendance?”

“I don't see why we wouldn't be,” Abbie replied. Celebrating being with child? Back home such a thing was kept secret or hidden as much as possible. They certainly didn’t have shindigs over it. “What exactly goes on?”

“Revelry,” Mrs. Collins said. “A bit of drinking, but not too much on account of all the children. Some dancing, and if Leena’s up to it she does some, too. We give her presents for the kid, because lord knows she has a difficult enough time making ends meet before her dang fool of a husband passed. Now it’s just her and all those kids and she’s too proud to ask for help, so we do it for her.”

Abbie smiled; it reminded her of back home when a new family would move in--at Pandora’s request, the women’s auxiliary would gather up donations and with minimal fuss make sure the family was welcome and cared for. 

“Wait, her husband passed?” Abbie asked. “That poor woman; did he take a fever or--”

Mrs. Collins chuckled when Abbie's face took on a sympathetic expression. “He was a degenerate gambler who would often take his weekly pay and instead of paying his bills and catching up on his store tab he would treat himself to drink, cards, and a tart or two at Miss Ruby’s.

“And when that ran out or he hadn’t been to work that week he’d hit Leena until she gave him what she’d set aside for living. It’s hard enough to struggle with nine children, when your husband is _also_ a child and you find out you have another on the way?” Mrs. Collins shuddered.

“I couldn’t imagine,” Abbie breathed. “So, what happened?” she asked again.

“Leena could forgive his wandering eye and hands and she knew if she found him before he got to Miss Ruby’s she could get some money to handle the bills and they would struggle along a little longer. Ray - may he be forever tortured in hell for what he did to his family - apparently hadn’t been home in over two weeks so Leena grabbed her shot gun and came looking for him, as one does. 

“Well she found him, and he was at Miss Ruby’s of course, and he was holed up with some tramp who apparently convinced him to leave his family and be with her.” Mrs. Colins gave a curt little nod. 

Abbie blinked. “What happened?” she almost screamed out of curiosity. 

“He was found with what was assumed to be a self-inflicted shotgun wound to the chest.”

Abbie blinked again. “A… what?”

Mrs. Collin’s sucked her teeth. “It’s a shame when things like that happen. Who’s to know the motivation, you know? Probably shame at failing his family, of course. Hard to know, though.” 

Abbie swallowed hard. “Oh…”

“We take care of our own out here,” Mrs Collins said. “And we all reckoned any good woman, especially one as good as Leena, would lose their nerve if they had a no good, cheatin’, gamblin' husband like him. Besides, it wouldn't do to have all her babies without neither a ma or pa.”

“I suppose not,” Abbie said softly.

“And then your husband was kind enough to forgive Ray's credit debts and promised to pay Leena her husband's wages every week until her husband's contract runs out,” Mrs Collins finished. “You have a fine husband, Abigail. He'll make a fine father.”

At that Abbie couldn't help but smile. “Considering the options I had back east,” she said softly. “I consider myself infinitely blessed by that fact.” Tears stung her eyes for a moment, until she patted her cheeks. “I think I know precisely which gown to put on that one.” She nodded toward the mannequin Mrs Collins had abandoned then gathered up a cheery yellow frock before whisking away to the mannequin.

Mrs. Collins stared after Abbie for a moment, trying to figure out what sort of vagrant would do harm to the small woman. She had seen the pain in Abbie in the eyes of other women. Women that had been tangled up with men that thought, just because they were engaged they had a right to treat her like she was already his wife. 

Well that was in the past, thank heaven. 

~*~

Ichabod watched Abbie as she passed the window of her new shop, hat gone and her riot of curls pinned up and off of her neck. She looked content in her bustle, which is exactly what Ichabod had hoped. 

Thankful for his long gait, Ichabod was able to make it to the other side of the town in record time, slipping into the office of the livery master without being seen. “Mister Hawley?” 

“Back here!”

Ichabod stepped through the office and out into the yard area. There were a few horses milling around, eating and watching people as they moved through their line of sight. He tarried a moment, watching a knobby-kneed foal chase after its mother.

He spotted Nick Hawley at his smithing iron, shirt off, sweat drizzling down the sculpted planes of his work honed body. His long blond hair was twisted into a messy bun with strands hanging loose against his chiseled jaw. Ichabod couldn't help but swallow hard as his mouth suddenly felt dry.

Nick Hawley was the sort of handsome that made men uncomfortable when they noticed they were appraising his rugged beauty.

He looked up as he placed a glowing rod into some water, steam billowing as the metal seemed to shriek even after he lifted it out and returned it to his anvil. “Mr. Crane,” he said. “What can I do you for?”

A wicked part of Ichabod's brain crowed, _For about an hour or two!_

“Mr. Hawley, I’ve come with an order of utmost importance,” Ichabod said, reminding himself not to stare as Hawley grabbed a cloth from his back pocket and wiped his face and neck.

“I thought I told you to call me Nick,” the man said with a roguish grin.

Ichabod felt his face warm and he stammered for a moment as he got caught up watching Nick make himself moderately presentable, despite his efforts not to. He swallowed as he tugged at his collar. “ _Nick_ ,” Ichabod stated after clearing his throat a couple times. “I… I…”

It wasn't the first time the other man had left Ichabod in a flustered state. Nick Hawley seemed to have the same effect on many of Salt River Falls’ citizens.

_Focus, Ichabod_ , he told himself sternly, and forcibly wrenched his gaze away to anything, _anything_ to return his faculties. “I am in need of a small, personal carriage,” he finally provided.

Nick smirked and brushed his hair away from his face. “I have a few you can order in. What's it going to be used for?” His eyes glimmered wickedly. “Is it for that pretty little lady of yours that everyone's been talking about?”

A smile tugged at Ichabod’s lips. “Yes. My wife needs something which would give her ease of travel between Rose River Ranch and her shop at the General Store. Well, once the house is rebuilt.”

“They have a couple in the catalog that I can go up to Albuquerque to fetch,” Nick provided. “A couple would be perfect for a lady on the move.” He slung the towel over his shoulder and put his hands on his narrow hips. Nodding toward the door he said, “Let's go in and have a look. But I'm warning you, they can cost a pretty nickel.”

Ichabod swept his hand toward the door to indicate Nick to lead the way. A mistake as now he was wondering if it was normal for a man to have such defined muscles on their back. _Stop this nonsense, Ichabod, you're a married man._

It was the thought of Abbie and her angelic face haloed by the early morning light as she was astride him that finally got him to focus. Also, thankfully, Nick grabbed up a shirt and pulled it on, but chose to leave it unbuttoned.

The other man grabbed a bound book and set it atop the high counter before opening it. “I need something that is easily yoked,” Ichabod stated. “And cost is not an issue as you well know… Nick.”

Nick leaned against the counter as he flipped through the pages of the catalog. “I also know how you tend to go crazy when you're head over heels,” Nick commented. He moved closer to Ichabod, until he could smell Nick's powerful and masculine scent. “Gotta be careful of them women that ask for expensive things or you'll be just as lonely as Bram.”

“Abigail did not ask for a buggy,” Ichabod said softly. “To be fair she has not asked of anything except…” He paused as he thought over the past few weeks. “... Nothing. She has not explicitly asked for anything. She has asked permission for simple things such as renting Mrs Collins’ room for her business. She's asked if I would be keeping all of her seamstress income… but I have seen her admire extravagant fare and took it upon myself to provide it to her.”

Nick arched a brow. “Gotta be careful of those type too. They'll think you're up to something because you surprise them with the nice things they want but don't want to ask for.”

“Is there any type of woman I don't have to be careful about, Nick?” Ichabod asked with a gentle smirk.

Nick shook his head. “Nope. Gotta be careful of all womenfolk. They're as dangerous as they are beautiful. The prettier she is the more dangerous she is.”

“Then Abigail is lethal beyond reason,” Ichabod said with a soft laugh.

Nick made an appreciative sound. “I'm gonna have to see this Abigail for myself. Lethal beyond reason? Sure she might not be too much for you to handle alone?”

When Ichabod met Nick's eyes, the other man grinned suggestively. “I think I shall manage just fine,” Ichabod replied, his face warming again. 

Nick tapped the catalog. “Kinross has a couple that might suit your needs. A little pony cart that is very simple to hook to an eleven to twelve. Fast but comfortable. Perfect for a lady on the move.” He flipped a page. “They also have a piano box buggy which is recommended for ladies. Good for about a fourteen hand. There's the drawback that it could turn easy if she's got any kind of speed going to her. The pony cart will run you about fifty dollars and is built for speeding along. The buggy goes for around sixty.”

Ichabod pursed his lips as he considered the options. “Which would you suggest, Nick?”

“Well, going by what I know… beautiful beyond reason, wife to one of the wealthiest landowners in this area…” Nick hummed. “I'd go with fast and quick to maneuver pony cart. Especially if she's gonna be making the run alone. And the back let's down so kids can ride along.”

“How long to get it in?” Ichabod asked.

“If I send off the order today they can put it on the next train out; so, a week at the most?” Nick said. “It also has a few extra options like lantern posts, a cover for if the lady wishes to avoid the sun and elements.” He leaned close. “And once it gets here, I can put in a bracket for a rifle so she's not defenseless.”

“She carries a pistol upon her person,” Ichabod stated. “Well… she calls it a pistol but it's really just an overgrown peashooter.”

“You and I both know that won't do for a lady in the west,” Nick chuckled. “Teach your woman how to shoot some real guns so she can be ready by time her cart gets here.”

Ichabod considered the suggestion. It would be advantageous for his wife to know how to handle larger caliber weapons, especially if she found herself in any danger he couldn’t immediately address. “Your advice is sound,” he said with a nod. “I’ll approach her with the idea and see how it fares.”

“Excellent.”

“As for the optional features I would like to have them all. What colors are available?” Ichabod asked.

“They come in black with white trim and white with black trim; anything else we can do in town.”

“I’ll take it bare; I believe Abigail’s favorite color is blue, though I will have to verify,” Ichabod admitted.

“You don’t know?” Nick drawled. “For shame.”

Ichabod’s face warmed. “It was a quick courting period,” he bit out as he produced his wallet, pulling a few bills from the roll. “Will three hundred dollars cover the initial payment?”

Nick shook his head. “Ichabod, it’s gonna cover most of the entire payment.” He accepted the bills and went back to his book to write down the order. “You can pay the remaining twenty-five dollars when the cart arrives.”

“Good, I look forward to it. Nice seeing you again, Nick,” Ichabod said with a nod. “Will Abigail and I see you at the social for Mrs. Reyes?”

“You _and_ Abigail? I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Nick said with a wink.

If he didn’t want to make a fool of himself, now would be the time to leave. Ichabod put his hat back on as he stepped out of the building. His eyes fell to the general store and travelled immediately to the large windows he had seen Abbie in earlier. 

He spotted her, gazing affectionately down the street, admiring the view. Her lovely face relaxed and contemplative as she toyed with the collar of her gown. It occurred to him that most of the ladies oft wore lovely cameos or brooches at the closures of their necklines. However, Abbie's was bare.

While he could order in any lovely thing, there was not a jeweller in Salt River Falls. Not to mention there were pieces that had once belonged to his mother that were absolutely stunning. It had the added advantage that they wouldn't cost a thing, which would surely please Abbie's thrifty nature.

The clock tower struck the hour of noon, drawing his attention for a moment. When he looked back up, he caught Abbie's eyes and they both smiled. She disappeared for a moment then emerged from the general store and headed his way across the street.

He stretched out a hand to assist her down the steps. “You have the air of business about you,” he said. 

“Good,” Abbie said. “One needs that when one is opening her own shop.” She glanced up and down the street. “I know it’s lunch time, but would you mind terribly if I ran one final errand before?”

“Of course not,” Ichabod said. “Would you like me to accompany you?” 

Before Abbie could respond Ichabod’s stomach growled loudly. She laughed. “No, husband,” she teased. “You should go ahead to the Nugget and select a meal for us both. I won’t be long - Mrs. Collins had a great idea of taking out an ad to announce my grand opening, so I am going to head to the newspaper.”

Ichabod lifted Abbie’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Then I shall procure us a meal fit for the activities I have planned for us,” he murmured, letting a bit of a wicked gleam shine through his smile.

Abbie pretended to be scandalized as she swatted at his shoulder before she opened her parasol. “What am I to do with you,” she chuckled.

“Again, you’ll find out upon finishing lunch,” he vowed. Ichabod hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t wish me to accompany you?”

Abbie shook her head. “I have to learn my new home eventually, and as you and I are destined to have very busy and separate days, no time like the present to learn. Besides, I’m sure I can ask someone for directions if Mrs. Collins’ fail me.”

Ichabod mustered a smile that was more confident than he felt. Of course it was only rational that Abigail learned how to venture around about town on her own - though he would feel more comfortable if she were transported by a horse or even better, the buggy he’d purchased for her just moments ago. 

“I will see you shortly then,” he said, swallowing his fears in the face of his wife’s cheerful determination. 

Abbie twirled her parasol cheekily before she stepped off the walk and onto the dirt road. After walking a few steps she turned back to find Ichabod still watching, his gaze full of longing. “Stop looking at me!” she shouted childishly as she rushed away.

“Never,” Ichabod called after her. “Never!” 

~*~

Caroline sighed wistfully as she flipped through the latest publication of The Herald of Salt River. Her father, David Thatcher, had been so ambitious, moving to this tiny town, hell bent on starting a paper. He had been just a regular nobody working at a minor New York paper before they moved out here and so had she, seduced by her father’s opinion that the West would not be truly civilized until a newspaper was in the hand of every citizen.

After completing Mademoiselle P’s Finishing School for Spirited Ladies, Caroline and her father combined assets and shoulder to shoulder spent the next four years setting up small newspapers in new towns. David Thatcher thought his daughter had the aptitude for journalism and taught her everything he knew, from loading paper into the presses, setting type, and writing ads. Even the other side of the business, such as how to gather news and spin it to make it interesting.

She supposed she should be a little grateful. Not many women had the chance to say they could run a print floor by themselves from end to end. The folks in Albuquerque had certainly looked at her like she had six heads when she checked in at the convention. 

Caroline had left her father in Albuquerque when the convention concluded; he tried to persuade her to stay but Caroline begged off with the excuse she had a lot of work to do for the Salt River newspaper. She couldn’t even face her father when she boarded the train - they both knew why she was hastening back to Salt River.

Funny how hopes could dry up much like a puddle at noon.

The bell above the door jangled loudly, pulling Caroline out of her impending melancholy. When she saw a familiar dark blue bonnet she smiled. “Afternoon, Cynthia,” Caroline called as the woman came around the partition. Cynthia Irving was the mayor’s wife and Salt River’s school teacher when she didn’t clerk for Sheriff Corbin and Devon Smith, the town’s only solicitor. 

Cynthia smiled brightly as she came to the counter. “Caroline, Albuquerque must agree with you,” she said. “You’ve lost some of the redness around your nose.” She clicked her tongue with mock disapproval. “More of those _unladylike_ freckles.”

Caroline snorted, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Cynthia, you are horrible,” she laughed. “Why are we friends?”

“Because I make you laugh until you leak tea from your nose,” Cynthia said, making Caroline hide her smile behind her hand. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m sure you’re not here to tell me about my skin.”

“No, not _only_ ,” Cynthia promised as she pulled a few papers from her bag on her wrist. “I have a few telegrams to send and I wanted to check the mail for Mr. Smith before I finish for the day.” She took a deep breath. “But I think I’m just going to take a moment in the shade before I do anything else.”

“Should I get the photographer?” Caroline asked dryly.

Cynthia merely looked at her. “Anything happen in the big city?” she asked pointedly.

Caroline adjusted the papers on her desk and shrugged a shoulder. “It was a newspaper convention,” she said. “Do you want to know the revolutionary advances in typeface?”

“I might,” Cynthia countered.

Caroline didn’t call her bluff. “I was able to attend a few very interesting lectures,” she admitted. “But the discussions left much to be desired.”

“Let me hazard a guess; when you suggested something you were essentially ignored?” Cynthia asked.

Caroline pretended to be surprised. “Were you there?” she asked, and Cynthia laughed.

“I’m sure I would’ve stuck out even more than you did,” she said. 

Caroline looked up from her work when she realized Cynthia had stopped talking. “What?” she asked, finding the woman just looking at her.

“I was worried when you left so abruptly,” Cynthia said. 

Caroline tried her hardest to think about not blushing but she could feel the heat on her face and neck and knew her fair skin did her no favors in hiding it. “I told you when I left I was fine,” she said, rising from her desk. She grabbed a few files to have something to do with her hands as she headed back to the cabinets. 

“Yes, well I’ve known you for a while and I think I know when my friend isn’t fine. I mean, this is a big deal. You’ve had a thing for Ichabod Crane since you blew into Salt River,” Cynthia said. 

Caroline slammed the cabinet door with no real heat. “How dare you,” she said weakly.

“Yet you haven’t said I’m wrong,” Cynthia said.

“That’s in the past now,” Caroline said crisply. “Unless some miracle has come to pass.” She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “I didn’t mean that,” she muttered. “Have you met her?”

Cynthia shook her head. “I haven’t had much time lately, what with getting back into town myself just yesterday. I caught a look at her, though,” she said conspiratorially. “She’s... gorgeous.”

“Of course she is,” Caroline said. “Because why wouldn’t she be.”

Cynthia coughed over her laugh as she glanced out of the window as a figure passed by the building across the street. “Oh my god, speak of the angel,” she said dryly. 

Caroline followed her gaze and swallowed. She couldn’t see Mrs. Crane’s face but Caroline could see her dress and it was nothing short of fabulous. She’d had dresses like that herself back in New York and for the first time in years she missed how easy life was back East. 

The two women said nothing as they watched Abbie turn and shield the sun from her eyes with a fan. She began to practically bounce down the road toward them, twirling the parasol that matched her dress. They continued to watch, spellbound, until Mrs. Crane was just at the door.

“You’re catching flies,” Cynthia muttered and Caroline just barely dodged embarrassing herself even further by closing her mouth just as the door to the newspaper opened. 

“Oh, it’s so much cooler in here than out there,” Mrs. Crane said as she collapsed her parasol and shut the door behind her with her foot. With a flick of her wrist, she opened her ornate fan and began cooling herself. “Good afternoon, ladies,” she said.

Caroline had seen “soon-to-be” Mrs Crane through the window weeks ago, but not close enough to get a good look. Lord, gracious! She was just just as lovely as everyone said, hell, maybe more so!

Mrs. Crane's gaze flickered between Caroline and Cynthia. “I don't think I've been properly introduced to either of you lovely ladies,” she said with a cheery lift to her voice. “I'm Abbie.” She jutted her hand out with a bright, hopeful smile.

Caroline suddenly remembered to breathe and jumped forward to take Mrs. Crane's hand. To her surprise, Abbie gave her hand a firm, almost authoritative shake. “Caroline Thatcher.” She blinked rapidly and shook her head to clear it. “And umm…”

“Cynthia Irving, my dear,” Cynthia said, taking her turn to gently shake Abbie's hand as she gave Caroline a nudge of her hip.

Caroline caught the curious glance her way as Cynthia rubbed her hand after Abbie was done greeting her. Abbie ducked her head bashfully. “Forgive me, I was reared giving firm handshakes. Mother always said if you want to be seen as an equal, you have to shake hands like a man.” She turned fully toward Cynthia. “Are you by chance Marshal Irving's wife?”

Cynthia beamed. “On his good days I am.”

“So glad to finally meet you!” Abbie says. “I was amazed to find out he was the mayor as well.”

Cynthia grinned. “Not too many black men mayors back East,” she agreed.

“Mrs. Crane, can I inquire after your designer? Your dress is just beautiful,” Caroline said.

Abbie glanced down with a smile before she held her arms out and gave a twirl. “I am,” she said proudly. 

Caroline’s gulp was almost audible. The dress was a gorgeous lilac and gold pattern, with delicate eyelet lace at the collar and on the sleeves from the elbow to the wrists. It cinched stylishly at the waist to flare over her hips, falling with enough heft to swing at the hem hovering just above the floor. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Of course that’s why Ichabod would no longer need my services. I can darn a sock, maybe mend a hem. But I can’t do anything close to that.”

“Are you taking orders?” Cynthia asked admiringly. 

Abbie closed her eyes and sighed. “Silly me,” she laughed, and be damned if it didn't sound like a sweet song. “That's whole reason I'm here! I wanted to put an ad in the paper before meeting the Mister for lunch.” She waved her hand elegantly. “The heat must have gotten to me.”

She clasped her hands in front of herself and rocked back on her heels. “To answer, yes. I am taking orders.” Caroline felt her back straighten when Abbie turned her gaze toward her. “I needed to advertise the opening of my shop.”

Caroline wondered what caused that lovely golden halo in Abbie's eyes. Was it always like that or was it a trick of the lighting in the room? Gosh. She was so pretty. And sweet. No wonder Ichabod had no reservations over marrying her. She would have married Abbie too!

Suddenly Abbie fluttered her lashes and smiled brightly. Caroline shook her head to clear it. “Oh! Right. An ad!” She ducked her head, her face warming. She knew she must be blushing. More so when she spotted Cynthia's bemused smirk.

Caroline dashed behind the desk to gather her notepad and to fill her pen with ink. “It's a nickel to run an ad for three months. That gives you four lines every week. For six cent you can have up eight lines or add a--” she looked up and found herself flustered for a moment. “--your choice of a advert picture. We have several sketches to choose from.”

Abbie looked contemplative for a moment. Caroline looked Cynthia's way and the woman looked damn near ready to burst out of her skin with laughter.

“I think, perhaps, I should keep it simple for now,” Abbie said carefully. “Lest my husband sees it and decides to come right over and make it flashier.”

“That man can't do anything halfway so that might actually happen,” Cynthia chuckled. “Has he told you how he was _convinced_ the town madam and he were in love?”

Abbie sucked in a breath. “I don't believe he mentioned that.”

“Cynthia...” Caroline barked. No need in bringing up old news, no matter how relieved it had made Caroline when she’d learned Sophie rejected Ichabod’s advances. 

Cynthia waved her hand dismissively. “I imagine he's just embarrassed by it. He went through all the trouble of upgrading the madams suite at the Nugget, bought a building because she thought Salt River Falls needed a library… gosh. What else… promised her the job of being the librarian… I feel like I'm leaving something out.”

The older woman sighed and shook her head. “Both Corbin and Frank tried to talk sense into him but… he ended up proposing to her anyway and she turned him down flat. He was a mess for a bit but… Bless him, he kept to his word and still gave Miss Sophie the rights and deed to the building for a library. Gave her the keys and everything.” 

Abbie smiled softly. Caroline didn't think she could smile in light of getting that kind of news. 

“After that any time any woman took a shine to him, he just took a step back and convinced himself he was just reading too much into things,” Cynthia added. “Then a few months ago he started getting his old spirit back.”

“Oh?” Abbie asked.

Caroline's eyes lit up. “You mean when Bram found out he got approved for a mail order bride? It's all Ichabod could talk about.” 

Cynthia nodded. “Frank saw it coming from a mile away. Thought Ichabod was getting ready to set himself up for another heartbreak. But, apparently it worked out for him this time.”

Abbie pulled out a delicate lace kerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I suppose it did.” She sighed softly. “It's good to know my husband is a man of his word. I grew tired of gentlemen in Sleepy Hollow with their brash promises they had no intention of keeping.”

“Sleepy Hollow?” Caroline asked. “My dad sent me to a finishing school there. We came from New York City, actually.”

“Oh!” Abbie preened with delight. “Another lady so far from the hustle of The City! Which of Sleepy Hollow’s finishing schools did you attend?” She cocked her head and beamed, Caroline felt her stomach doing all kinds of acrobatics. “As sweet as you are, you _have to be_ one of Lady Van Tassel’s girls.”

Caroline ducked her head shyly and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was at Mademoiselle P’s Finishing School for Spirited Ladies.”

At that, Abbie's back straightened and her brows arched. “You were under the tutelage of Mother?”

Caroline felt her face warm. She had gone to finishing school much later than most girls. By time she started, all the other girls had well established niches and friends. “I didn't exactly fit in. I was very well behaved. I… I didn't really stand out too much. I never even really saw her except for the first day of classes when she took audience with everyone to see what kind of work they needed to become proper ladies.”

Abbie pursed her lips. “Thatcher, you say?” She tapped her chin with her fan. “Your father is David Thatcher? You had lost your birth mother just two months past? You were nervous the entire time Mother interviewed you.”

With a shaky nod, Caroline replied, “Yes. How--Ohh, my gosh.”

Caroline had been aware of a second person being in the room the day she had been interviewed. But had never actually seen more than just their skirt when they swept forward to give “Mother” a glass of water. They had slipped silent as a mouse out of and back into the shadows of the room without a word.

She remembered being stunned that one could blend in so thoroughly that someone would be unaware of their presence until it was requested. But afterwards, Caroline's eyes had been drawn to the heavy drapes framing the window of the office, noting the rouge dress that blended almost seamlessly against the drapes as the sunlight filtered in.

“I think I remember you,” Caroline said slowly. “Well, if you can call it such. I was so nervous that day.”

Caroline felt her heart beating rapidly. If Abbie was the girl in shadows that day, that meant… Oh God. _“My heir is observing today,” Pandora said softly. “Try not to let that distract you.”_. 

Oh it had distracted her. Mostly because she couldn't see a second person in the room until Pandora had asked for the glass of water. She had been fidgety as all Hell. 

Had Pandora sent Abbie out west to keep an eye on her? To check on her? To make sure her “finishing” had stuck? No… no. It just had to be a coincidence. Pandora had _so many_ girls out in society--being the only cost efficient finishing school that even poor folk could attend--it would be a given that one could go just about anywhere and run into a fellow “sister.”

“You ladies will have to tell me more about this finishing school,” Cynthia stated, breaking the tension that had started to build. “I know eventually I'll have to send Macey to one.”

“Mademoiselle P’s Finishing School for Spirited Ladies doesn't turn any girl away. And it's the only school in the region that has ramps for chairs,” Abbie said as smiled pleasantly. She looked back at Caroline. “I’m sure it'll be a blessing to have a sister nearby. I feel safer already.”

And just like that the tension in the room practically evaporated. 

Caroline beamed. “Now, about that ad!”

~*~

“Andrew, throw that disgusting thing out of a window,” Lucian scoffed. Honestly. Riding a train was undignified enough, he could live without further indignity. 

Andrew's eyes shifted to a woman several rows down, trying to calm her infant. He removed the fat cigar from his mouth. “It's just a baby, sir. You sure?”

Lucian lifted his head and gave Andrew a flat look. One corner of his lips quirked. He had to admire the man's spirit. “Good one, Andrew. But I was referring to that revolting thing you're smoking. If I have to smell it for another moment, I'm liable to throw _you_ out of the window.”

That option had the added bonus that he wouldn't have to look at the ridiculous fur coat Andrew insisted upon wearing. Honestly. It was beyond ostentatious. But Lucian supposed that sort was impressive to the lower class women. An actual gentleman wouldn't be caught dead in that sort.

Lucian pressed his lips together tightly and glowered at Andrew. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Andrew scrambled to lower the window and tossed the cigar out. He closed the window then eased back in his seat. Lucian rolled his eyes when the infant continued to wail.

“Now that you mention it, find of those gentlemen with the cart and buy that mother a finger of whiskey,” Lucian stated. “Tell her to rub some on the brat’s gums and drink the rest. Lord knows she'll need it being right there at that noise.”

Andrew cocked a brow. “That's unlike you, sir.”

Lucian tilted his chin up. “To want silence? Anything to shut the little thing up.” He recalled seeing Abbie offer another young mother the same such trick before. Besides, once Abbie was returned to her rightful place it would only be proper to have a little screamer of their own. May as well become accustomed. 

Andrew scowled gently but nodded and went off to do as he bid.

It was a known fact Andrew had once upon a time had his eyes set upon Abigail. Lucian couldn't fault him for that. She had all the airs and graces of a proper lady. But she was well above Andrew's status and she had politely declined his affections. 

The more Lucian found out about Abbie in the moments he wasn't looking, the less of a lady she seemed. But yet he couldn't find himself wanting her at his side any less. After all, such obstinate behaviour could easily be beat out a person. 

He, himself, was testament to that. 

He had been a right little bugger in his formidable years. Father had taken a rod to him for every petulant outburst, every cross look, and sometimes just in case he had done something Father hadn't known about.

It had turned him into the gentleman he was today. Surely it could work on a woman. In fact he had very much thought it was working until his petite little angel turned on him then stormed from his life.

He had been furious when he discovered his Abigail had secretly been one of Pandora's daughters. _And_ a woman boxer in the undergrounds that had made a name for herself as being Pandora's treasured _Napalutu_. And if that wasn’t enough, not only was Lucian almost positive Abigail had been one of many women Pandora had used to bring his father's downfall, she had been Pandora’s _heir_.

The downfall of his father was one Lucian had mixed feelings on. On one hand, he had hated his father. On the other, his father losing credibility had been the cause of embarrassment to him. He'd had to build trust with people after Pandora aired all the dirty laundry. 

He'd had intentions to be a credible businessman. But then his father's "old friends” started coming to collect on favors. The sins of the father had then passed down to Lucian. His descent back into that type of life was practically inevitable.

They expected him to be just as successful as his father had been. They hadn't taken kindly to his reminding them that his father was rotting in a box six feet below so he couldn't have been much of a success.

And by a woman at that.

Abigail had been the one thing in his life that had been beautiful and pure--or so he had thought. He had desired her before discovering she held possession of a property his father had always sought. And then when he discovered that gem of information, nothing could stop him from wooing her.

He first saw her when someone referred him to her shop for a proper suit. The sunlight on her luminous face made her brown eyes look like they had golden halos in them. She had been so beautiful. More so when she smiled. Like an angel. He had been smitten and was prepared to do anything to have her.

A gentleman of his status and age deserved such a fresh and beautiful woman at his side. So what if he was twenty years her senior? His own father had been nearly fifty when he married Lucian's mother, she barely at marrying age. It was a shame she had died baring him, he was told she was a delightful and staunch lady.

Abbie had struck him as not being like the other women that constantly craved his attentions. The dry spinsters seeking to land a rich husband when they were past their primes had paled in comparison to Abigail. She had even pleasantly disregarded his attempts to impress her with his wealth.

Besides, youth and beauty such as Abbie possessed would have been wasted on a lad her own age. 

His fingers grazed the scarring on his face from his shaming. _You dared to try and break her_ , he heard Pandora say again and again in his head. 

It was high time to return to pay Abbie for the lesson he learned, and if payment was to be in kind, then so be it.


End file.
